


Common Decency

by quotationsovercadence



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Arguing, Arranged Marriage, Biting, Breathplay, Bretons (Elder Scrolls), Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Relationship, Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Marriage, Melancholy, Memories, Nightmares, Nords (Elder Scrolls), Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Rough Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Smut, Swearing, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unhealthy Relationships, War Crimes, Windhelm (Elder Scrolls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 76,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quotationsovercadence/pseuds/quotationsovercadence
Summary: Arielle asked for a temporary truce.Ulfric Stormcloak asked for her hand in marriage.But how will she cope when it comes time to fulfill her end of the deal?(War quests referenced but not followed.)
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Lydia, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak, Galmar Stone-Fist/Lydia, Ulfric Stormcloak/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 98
Kudos: 161





	1. Prologue

The Palace of Kings.

A shiver ran up her spine at the sight of it that had nothing to do with the large clumps of white the sky was currently dumping on the city of Windhelm. The massive stone palace looked a lot more like a prison than a castle against the icy backdrop of snow. Though her form was shielded from the elements by a large dark blue cloak that slightly trailed behind her when she walked, no doubt due to her short stature, her housecarl was giving her a look that told her she was all too aware of how tightly her hands were clasped together out of nervousness.

After all, how many others would have accepted this deal? To essentially give her life, or what was left of it anyway, to a man she didn't even know in exchange for his help to save the world. She tried not to dwell on it too much. Whenever she did, it made her feel dirty. Especially since she knew everything that would be required of her, required of a wife. It made her sick with guilt and her frown more than advertised that to her longtime Nordic companion.

"You're not required to accompany me. I have released you from my service. After all, your name is nearly as known as mine now, you could venture anywhere," she told the tall woman adorned in steel armour beside her. The masses would sing their praise of the housecarl that helped save the world wherever she went. 

Lydia let out a snorted laugh. "What, did you really think I'd abandon you to your fiercest opponent yet?" she asked in that proud voice of hers. Lydia was always so sure, so proud. She was a true Nord at heart. Arielle couldn't have been bestowed a greater housecarl. "Though if we stand out here any longer, we will probably freeze to death. Save us a lot of trouble I'm sure."

The corner of Arielle's mouth turned up just a bit. "I'm just.. -"

"Enjoying your last moments of freedom?" she asked, already knowing the answer and unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. The woman was irritated with Arielle's choice. Though, at the time it seemed the smart way to go, especially with the high risk of death she faced going against the giant beast of a dragon that threatened all of Nirn. After all, the prophetic wall only said that the dragonborn would face Alduin, not defeat him. But now, with the tall stone palace before her, the deal she made was a hard potion to swallow. 

"Essentially," she answered before releasing a heavy sigh. At least she wouldn't have to fight his war for him. Another thing she had to thank Lydia for. It was her idea to put it as a condition to his proposal, that he would not use her as his own personal weapon of destruction. And though Arielle's mind was still clouded by doubt, she doubted Ulfric would be fool enough to go back on his word. Who would follow a man that did? But she didn't know him, only knew of him and the things she'd heard were scarcely good.

One of her hands found it's way to the amulet of Talos that hung from her neck. Her fingers closed around it and she allowed her eyes to close before she prayed. Not to the god himself but to her father, the necklace's previous owner. She prayed for forgiveness for what she was about to do. He fought beside Ulfric in the great war and had always been vocal about supporting his choice to distance Skyrim from the Empire and Thalmor. Yet, she couldn't imagine he would approve of her giving herself to him, or anyone else for that matter, through politics.

"It's not too late," Lydia said, tearing her out of her thoughts, "We can still turn around." Arielle shook her head at that. She didn't know what would shame her father more, her trading her hand in marriage in order to kill a dragon or going back on her word to do so. Like Lydia, Arielle's father was a true Nord and raised her to always keep her word. He might be gone, but his teachings remain and she'd be damned to go against them.

"He's already announced it," Arielle said bitterly, thinking about her last conversation with the esteemed Jarl Balgruf. How she returned from her fight, worse for wear and in great need of rest only to find out that the Jarl of Whiterun, the very same Jarl that named her thane and gifted her a most trusted housecarl had called for her arrest. That in itself was another hard potion to swallow. 

"The Jarl of Whiterun's anger proceeds him," Lydia said, knowing exactly what she was referring to. How could she not, after all it was Lydia's own armour that had taken the brunt of that sword. Another thing to thank Lydia for. That damned woman had saved her life more times than she could count on both hands.

"You mean he doesn't like sharing," Arielle corrected her only to receive another snorted laugh in response. She was far from oblivious to the way Balgruf treated her like she was an object, a thing to be used like so many others did. Sending her off, or trying to send her off on ridiculous quests. Not that he was the only one to do so. The Jarl of Falkreath had once sent for her only to request she guard a shipment of mead being carted from the Rift. As if she weren't trying to save the souls of men and mer from the world eater. 'They're all the same.' she thought bitterly. But at least she would be able to take refuge in knowing she wouldn't have to fight for him. Not that it stopped him from using her name to further his cause.

One of the two soldiers that stood guard at the palace doors had disappeared inside just moments ago. No doubt informing the occupants of her arrival. Rather than waiting to be fetched, as degrading as that would be, she steeled herself and squared her shoulders. Her leather boots crunched lightly in the snow beneath the thick robe that clung to her snugly under the warm cloak. Though the sound was barely audible, overshadowed by Lydia's armored boots following behind. A pain in her thigh reminded her of her recent battle and she did her best to ignore it. Trudging ever onward to the next opponent.

The Jarl of Windhelm.


	2. Getting Settled

When the soldier standing guard opened the large castle door, Arielle was immediately greeted by an unexpected warmth. Even though this was her second visit to the palace, she was still surprised by how warm it was kept inside. A small part of her mind wondered just how many fireplaces it took to heat such a massive castle so intensely. The doors opened up right into the throne room and Arielle could not suppress the scowl that came to her face at the sight. There would be no more ignoring what she'd gotten herself into. And she was sure there had only been one throne upon her last visit.. 

She'd made it barely a few paces into the castle and was already wishing she'd taken Lydia up on her offer to turn around in the courtyard. Though, she doubted it would do much good in the end. Once the Jarl was informed of her arrival, she suspected he would go to great lengths to keep her at the palace. She would not put it past him to have her dragged right back to his doorstep in chains. After all, the Jarl Balgruf had tried the same thing just a few days prior. The scowl on her face deepened when the memory bloomed in her mind once more. 

Their relationship, if her being a member of his court could be called that, had turned sour so fast it made her head spin. Of course, Ulfric was the one to blame for that in his eagerness to announce their betrothal to all of Skyrim and beyond. Bragging rights, for landing the Dragonborn's hand in marriage she was sure. The man had clearly not thought that decision through very well since it nearly cost both her and Lydia their lives. And Arielle wasn't exactly useful to him as a corpse. 

The delicate strumming of a lute reached her ears and her attention was immediately drawn to the auburn-haired woman at the other end of the great hall. A lyric-less tune, but one she was annoyingly familiar with filled the large room. Age of Oppression. A fitting tune for the rest of her life, she was sure. And how utterly ridiculous for the woman to be playing music in a mostly empty room. Who was she supposed to be entertaining, the mice? 

She wasn't sure what kind of reception she'd get, but arriving to an empty hall with a lone bard strumming a depressing Nordic ballad was far from the few scenarios she did imagine. The sound of a door opening reached her ears from somewhere near the end of the great hall and Arielle's eyes searched for the cause of the sound. A second later the steward appeared, heading toward her with a spring in his step. It was a march with purpose and she wondered if there would even be introductions before she was locked away in whatever cell awaited her. 

She likened it to those stories she read as a child, the ones that had the woman locked away in the tower, waiting for her prince to save her. Except this time, the prince, or Jarl for that matter, was the one locking her away and there would be no-one coming to save her. Jorleif was the stewards name, her mind suddenly recalled when he came to a stop in front of her, looking rather winded from his hasty approach. He was an aging man with a thick mustache that was in such desperate need of grooming that it could nearly pass for a beard. And she couldn't help but wonder, just how much of Windhelm had been left to this man to run while the Jarl fought his beloved war. 

"Dragonborn," he greeted, sounding just a bit breathless and the man quickly beckoned Arielle and her housecarl to follow him out of the throne room, seeming all too eager to show them to their quarters. They followed him down a stone hallway brightly lit by sconces, each candle with it's own flame dancing from the disturbance in the air as they passed. The first room they passed before ascending the stairs was the war room. It was the only room she was familiar with in the castle aside from the main hall and the very same one Ulfric had proposed to her in. Which was, just so Nordic of him. 

It was cooler in the upper levels of the castle, she realized when she reached the top of the stairs and pulled her cloak tighter around herself for it. Jorleif led them down a series of turns, bringing them to what he called the guest wing. Which was little more than a short hallway leading to nothing but allowing a room to exist on either side of it. Apparently guests to the palace in Windhelm were not currently in abundance and she would at least be able to take some comfort in knowing Lydia would be close by. Jorleif wasted no time in opening the first door. He entered, immediately crossing the room to the fireplace and began the process of starting a fire muttering an apology about the coldness of the room. 

A deep crease planted itself in her brow while she stood in the doorway, taking in the view. The room was.. much larger and nicer than she'd been expecting. Every surface looked freshly polished, the bed was made with the finest linen she'd ever seen and plush rugs covered the majority of the stone floor. Her feet moved of their own accord, bringing her to the foot of the bed where one of her hands reached out to feel the soft blue fabric of the thickly woven blanket. It felt too soft between her fingers and she was sure she'd never felt fabric as luxurious as this in all her life. And this was just the blanket. Another blanket of snow bear fur was rolled at the foot of the bed. The white fur complimenting the soft blue linen quite nicely and her fingers migrated to feel it's softness while she processed the very unexpected turn of events. 

"Is it to your liking?" Jorleif asked, tearing her out of her thoughts and she looked over to see him shooting her a look she couldn't quite decipher. 

"It's.. different than I expected," she admitted, wondering why it mattered what she thought at all. The slight warmth of the budding fire reached her then and she pulled the strings of her cloak free before pulling it off her shoulders and tossing it onto the foot of the bed in a wrinkled heap. The worn leather bag and bow strapped to her back was the next to follow. 

"What were you expecting?" he asked, and she looked over to see his face set in a deep frown. 

"A cell," she said, answering him honestly and a beat of silence passed before he chuckled. Though his amusement was short lived when he realized her expression was not one of mirth and she could see a look of almost horror reflecting in his eyes. "The Jarl of Whiterun sought to imprison me when news reached him of the.. wedding," she explained with a shrug, "I expected to receive the same treatment here." 

"You will receive no such treatment in Windhelm, Dragonborn," he assured her before turning his attention back to the fire. He stoked it with a poker before adding another log. Once he was satisfied with the size of the flames, he hung the poker on the very same hook he'd retrieved it from and turned back to the women. "The Jarl is out currently, though we expect him back any time. I'll leave the two of you to get settled and inform him of your arrival upon his own." With that said, he quickly made his way to the door, stopping there only long enough to inform Lydia that her room was across the hall before he left them alone. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed down the hallway and only a moment passed until they disappeared completely. 

"Well, he was.. something," Arielle said when they were alone. Not the reception she'd imagined, but she couldn't exactly complain about a bedroom as nice as the one she was currently in. It was leagues better than being locked in Whiterun's jail. Though she did wonder if it would remain hers after the wedding. She couldn't imagine sharing a space with a man, Ulfric or otherwise. 

No, she quickly decided, their time together would probably cease the moment she was with child. It wasn't a real marriage, only a political agreement. She would never have what her parents had.

Knowing Lydia would be eager to ditch her own heavy backpack, Arielle quickly crossed the room before peeking a head into the hallway. It was dimly lit by candle light but she could still make out the lone guard standing at the end of the short hallway. She scoffed. So much for not being imprisoned. Ignoring that for the moment, she crossed the hallway and opened the door to Lydia's room. It was a near duplicate of her own room with the exception of the lit fire and she quickly crossed the small room to the fireplace. 

"Maybe the Jarl is trying to win your favor after all," Lydia said from behind her and she frowned before tossing a few logs into place, easily lighting them with a spell. 

"I doubt that," she said, being careful of the volume in which she spoke. The door was still open and she would not doubt that the guard had been told to listen. Her time spent trusting Jarls was long passed. "Besides, he doesn't need my favor. He has everything he wants with our.. arrangement," she said, bitterness clear in her tone. With the fire lit and slowly spreading it's warmth throughout Lydia's room, she returned to her own to let the woman get settled. 

Back in her own room, she began the task of putting her things away. She didn't have much, most of her belongings were still at her home in Whiterun unless the Jarl burned it to the ground in his anger. She would not put it past the man, he was damn near beastly when he was angry. With what little she did have to her name now tucked into it's proper place, she sat on the bed. A part of her mind registering that it was even softer than it looked and she was very much looking forward to a decent night's sleep. Her hands bunched the fabric of her robe's skirt, pulling it high up her thigh so she could undress the still healing portion of the wound on her leg. 

She unwound the wrappings, revealing the deepest part of the gash that ran up the full length of her thigh from knee to hip. It was going to scar, badly and already had at either end. Her parting gift from Alduin himself. But she lived, surviving despite the odds against her. Her hands came alive in a soft healing glow for the tenth or so time since the battle and she worked to heal the rest. Sometime later she managed to close the wound completely, leaving only the angry red line of the developing scar before the exhaustion of the past few days caught up enough for her to lie down on the soft mattress. 

A soft knocking pulled her from sleep she didn't even know she was in and she opened her eyes to the stone ceiling above her head. She blinked a few times and rubbed at her eyes to dispel the lingering sleepiness before the knocking sounded again. "Come in," She called, sitting up in the bed and noticing the light outside the window was significantly darker, the room that much dimmer. The door opened by a young Nordic woman stepping into her room. She had light brown hair, hazel eyes and couldn't have been older than Arielle's own twenty two winters. "Who are you?" Arielle asked the woman who must have noticed the dimness of the room because she immediately started the task of lighting the pillar candles housed on the table and dresser. "My name is Rona, Dragonborn. I am your lady's maid," she explained while she worked, the skirt of her brown linen dress lightly grazed the rug covered floor as she moved from one candle to the next. Arielle frowned. "My name is Arielle, not Dragonborn. And I'm not messy enough to need my own maid," she said firmly. 

"I'm to help you dress for dinner, Lady Arielle," the woman said, despite her clear protests and already heading toward the closet. Both of the closet's wooden doors were opened, revealing an array of different gowns all in varying colors that immediately captured Arielle's attention. New clothes was another thing she wasn't expecting, but probably should have now that she thought about it. She rose from the bed and crossed the room to examine the garments closer, noticing that Rona was a good five inches taller than herself. The dresses were nice and looked to be her size but too long she realized with a frown. 

"My mother was a Breton. I take after her," she said idly, toying with the long skirt of one of the dresses. It was blue with a rounded neckline that would show off more of her shoulders than she was used to, but she could not deny it's beautiful color. And it was perhaps the softest fabric she'd ever felt, the thick velvet would definitely keep her warm enough in the drafty halls. She could only imagine how it would feel against her delicate skin. Her mind recalled seeing similar dresses resting on mannequins in a rather nice clothing shop in Solitude. Though, with the amount of gold pieces each one cost, she never expected to actually wear one. 

"I can fix those," Rona told her, almost excitedly before reaching into a satchel Arielle only just now realized she'd been wearing across her body. The woman retrieved a long strip of fabric for measuring and quickly went to work, first measuring Arielle's own robe's skirt and then taking the blue dress off it's hanger to begin the process of hemming it. 

"I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other.." Arielle said, more to herself than anything else as Rona sat at the small table beside the door, working quietly on fixing the chosen dress. She wasn't completely opposed to company, but she had the feeling the only honest company she would receive would come from Lydia. A year spent fighting by the woman's side earned that comradery and deep down she was thankful that the woman had not abandoned her to live this life alone. "How long have you worked here?" she asked the Nord who had just finished removing the extra length of the dress. 

"I was hired for you a few weeks ago, though I've been helping in the kitchen til you arrived," Rona said while her fingers began weaving the needle into the delicate fabric. "I'm much better at stitching than cooking," she said, almost sheepishly so while she worked on the dress. With nothing better to do, Arielle started the task of using her fingers to detangle her blonde tresses. Once untangled, she pulled the top back and secured it with pins to keep it away from her face. The rest was left alone, loose blonde curls hanging freely to her waist and she took a moment to look at herself in the large mirror that sat on the dresser. Blue eyes, the same ones she'd seen in her reflection all her life roamed her expressionless face and Paarthurnax's words appeared in her mind. She could feel it, that almost empty feeling blooming inside herself ever since she returned from Sovngarde. 

She'd seen the end, the final resting place of her soul. And now, with her impending marriage to Ulfric, she'd seen the rest of her life as well. Something akin to sorrow was budding deep inside herself and it left her wondering, what was the point of it all? To endure a life of an unwanted marriage, waiting to age and die? Going back was never an option. Her home in Helgen had been destroyed by Alduin when he returned to the land of the living. But even if the house had survived the destruction, she couldn't go back after watching her parents die there to the very same dragon. The only way to go, was forward. Forward until death. That was a depressing thought. 

Thankfully, before she could mentally explore the depths of those thoughts, the door opened. Lydia strolled into the room adorned in her typical steel armour and wearing an expression of almost awkwardness on her face. "I fell asleep," she explained and Arielle smiled. 

"So did I," she told her, hopefully lessening the other woman's embarrassment. "This is Rona," she said with a gesture toward the woman still stitching the bottom of the dress, "She'll be around a lot." 

When the dress was finally finished, Arielle sent both women out of the room while she washed up with the freshly poured, piping hot water in the basin. Rona took a few of the dresses from the closet with her to begin the process of altering them, seeming almost desperate to make herself useful since Arielle would not allow her to stay. She could dress herself just fine and most certainly did not need any help with bathing. Once she pulled the dress over her small frame, she took a moment to appreciate the feel of the soft velvet against her skin. The fabric fit snugly to her slight curves and was every bit as warm as she hoped it would be. Rona had hemmed it perfectly, the thick fabric just resting on the floor in the front with a little more trailing behind. The sleeves were long and snug with cuffs at the end that nearly reached her knuckles and the round neckline meant her father's amulet of Talos was on full display where it rest against the fair skin of her upper chest. 

A soft knocking on the door caught her attention and after giving the all-clear, Lydia poked her head in to inform her that dinner was ready. She left her room and immediately mourned it's loss as she and Lydia were escorted by a guard to the dining hall. Inside her room she felt almost herself, but walking through the palace in fine fabrics had her feeling more than a little out of place. So much had changed in only a few hours and she'd yet to speak a single word to the Jarl. Though, that time was fast approaching. Each step, each time her fur lined slippers met the rug covered hallway it brought her closer, til she was standing at the precipice for the second time in one day. 

Her nerves lit up with adrenaline, her body feeling almost tingly as the guard stepped forward, beckoning her to enter the dining room through the open doorway. Hands that she had no memory of clasping together released each other so she might dispose of their moisture along the sides of her skirt. She inhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders before she stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm conveying her pessimism clearly enough.


	3. Dinner

Immediately upon entering the dining hall, Arielle was greeted by bright candlelight. No surface was spared from it's own flame, bathing the hall in strong light. The surprises kept coming it seemed when Arielle laid her eyes upon the many people already seated at the table. Jorleif, the steward sat toward the end, deep in conversation with another man adorned in steel armour beside him. Two others sat across from them, the latter dressed in Stormcloak colors. Soldiers? 

It shouldn't have surprised her since the sight was not exactly a foreign one. The few times she'd dined at the palace in Whiterun, the court was present. Her eyes roamed over the room, taking in the tall stained-glass windows, now darkened from the setting sun and the table, set with the finest china she'd ever laid her eyes on. No, not even the Jarl Balgruf's dining hall could compare in finery. The sound of a lute reached her ears and she spotted the very same bard from a few hours prior strumming at her instrument from a far corner. 

Her entry went unannounced and unnoticed she realized when her eyes landed on the source of the most audible conversation taking place at the end of the hall. Ulfric himself, donned in what she was sure were his finest clothes was deep in conversation with his own housecarl, a gruff man by the name of Galmar, while his eyes raked over the few documents he held. "...news from High Rock?" she heard him inquire to the other man who gave a snorted laugh. 

"Not a damned peep from those prissy Bretons. They can't be made to lift a finger to help their neighbors," came his reply, to which Arielle arched a brow. At least she knew where she stood, even if it made her want to throttle the man. 

"I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. They've never had many problems with the Empire," said Ulfric and she could hear the interest fading from his deep voice as he turned one of the letters over in his hands, his light blue eyes, even distinguishable from where she stood continued scanning the written text. 

Another snorted laugh came from the housecarl before he spoke, "Those milk-drinkers? Think they're better than us. Might as well be elv-"

The abrupt sound of a throat being cleared caught the attention of everyone in the room and Arielle's now angry eyes searched for the source. Jorleif, the steward was looking back at her and she would swear his complexion was a few shades lighter than last she'd seen him. His expression was one of genuine concern which, under normal circumstances Arielle would have found rather amusing. Instead, knowing exactly what Galmar was going to say, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides. "Well timed," Lydia commented, her words meant for Arielle but spoken just loud enough and with just enough venom to make sure everyone heard. 

"It was," she replied, meeting the woman's brown eyes, seeing her own irritation welling in them. Lydia was no fan of Galmar's and the glowering expression she suddenly turned on the man more than proved that their time apart had done little to change her opinion. 

"Dragonborn," said Ulfric, in that deep, masculine voice of his. It was enough to earn her attention and she turned her blue eyes on his to see him already crossing the room toward her. The man was huge, a beast among Nords and the phrase 'Bear of Windhelm' appeared in her mind as he came to stand but a foot away from her, towering over her small frame. His blonde hair was full of braids, each one with cuffs of silver throughout. His facial hair was neatly trimmed into a thick goatee and his clothes were equally as nice as her dress. He was adorned in thickly woven blue wool with the exception of a steel breast plate and bracers. A large bear fur cloak hung from his shoulders, it's claws draped casually over him. He looked every bit the Nordic king he claimed to be. "It is an honor to finally have you at the Palace of Kings, Dragonborn," he said and she went to great lengths to keep her expression blank even as Galmar's words lingered in her mind, fanning her ire, demanding she speak up. "You are every bit as beautiful as last I saw you," he added, not bothering to halt his wandering eyes. "And wearing an amulet of Talos, no less. If you're trying to flatter me-" 

"It belonged to my father," she said, unable to stop herself from cutting him off. She took the few steps necessary around him so she might lock eyes with his housecarl. "Who fought against the Dominion in the great war," she continued, finally allowing that defiant scowl to appear as she narrowed her eyes at him. "And who, thankfully, didn't share your same.. ideals. Lest the Dragonborn would not have come to be, leaving your soul in the hands of the World Eater." A beat of silence passed while all eyes in the room were on the exchange. Arielle could put up with many things, fighting dragons, a Jarl's betrayal, even an unwanted marriage. But she would not allow either of her parents to be disrespected. 

"You're a pettish thing," he finally said, his voice gravelly and with a sneer on his own face causing her scowl to deepen for it. 

"And you're a bast-" 

"Enough!" Ulfric bellowed, his already deep voice high in volume and echoing slightly in the large dining hall. So much so that it seemed to reverberate inside her mind and her ears ached for it due to their closeness. A part of her mind registered just how quiet the room had become and she realized that even the music had stopped playing at Ulfric's outburst. Bear of Windhelm indeed. A few more awkward seconds of silence passed before the strumming of the lute reached her ears once more. Galmar huffed but made his way over to the long table with a large goblet in tow. 

"Now then," Ulfric said and she looked over to see him holding his arm out in a strange position, "can I escort you?" he asked, sounding almost amused and it suddenly dawned on her what he wanted. Confused why she would need an escort to a table that was twenty or so paces away, she placed her hand on his forearm. Which he immediately re-arranged so that her arm went beneath his. And despite all of her magical abilities, the feeling of his large hand wrapped around her much smaller wrist, was not a good one. It felt more like a shackle than a hand and she could feel a flare of panic rising in her, that tingly feeling returning to her body. No, she wasn't locked in a cell but she was still this man's prisoner and would be til death. He led her to the table, the cold metal of his steel bracer beneath her palm somehow reminding her of the equally cold future ahead of her and her lungs suddenly felt constricted, making it that much harder to breathe. Maybe that was the purpose of his escort, to remind her of her place.

He sat at the head of the table and she at his right. Unfortunately, that put her directly across from Galmar but she did not meet his eyes. Instead, her attention was focused on the excessive amount of cutlery in front of her. Surely she'd been given it all by mistake. "Did you plan to invite guests?" Ulfric asked, his deep voice tearing her out of her thoughts and she met his eyes. His eyes were a light blue, almost ice color and looked just as cold as the glaciers floating in the Sea of Ghosts. 

"No," she answered him immediately, realizing that he was referring to the wedding, "I lost both of my parents in Helgen." 

"Helgen?" he asked, surprise clear in his tone and her eyes dropped to the empty plate in front of her. 

"Yes. Alduin killed them, when he returned to our world," she said, recalling that fateful day just over a year ago. It was early morning when Arielle's mother sent her to purchase pastries from the Inn. She would never forget the sight of the Thalmor's black and gold robes as they marched into the city with the Imperial military and a cartful of captured Stormcloak soldiers, Ulfric at the head of them bound and gagged. Growing up a war veteran's daughter meant she heard a great deal about the war and if she learned anything from those stories, it was to never trust the Dominion. She ran home as fast as she could, losing the pastries as she went and the three of them bore witness to the first beheading together. "The Greybeards seem to think he was trying to kill me.. before I knew what I was," she said, wondering if the bitterness in her voice was apparent to anyone else. 

"I'm sure it's no coincidence that those Imperial bastards carted us in right before he appeared," he said and she met his eyes once more. He stared at her intensely, with a purpose she could not decipher, "I do believe this union to be the will of the gods, Dragonborn." A deep frown came to her face at his words and she passionately hoped they were not true. Surely the gods could not be that cruel. 

Before she could respond, a Stormcloak soldier appeared carrying a piece of folded parchment with him. He approached Ulfric with an apology for interrupting his dinner before passing him what she could now see was a sealed letter. A second later the letter was open and his icy blue eyes were scanning the written message. A deep frown came to his face before he spoke again. "Galmar," he said without sparing a glance to his housecarl. "join me in the war room." Both Ulfric and his housecarl stood from the table. Galmar made to leave while the Jarl hesitated, turning his attention back on Arielle. "The date has been set for Fredas," he told her, the low rumble of his voice ringing clear with absolution. She could not stop the look of surprise that littered her face at the news. That was only three days away. 

With that said, and without giving her a chance to respond, he made quickly made his way out of the dining hall. A couple of kitchen staff appeared and began serving plates of food to everyone left at the table. One was given to her, a layer of freshly cut vegetables on a bed of chopped cabbage. It was the first food she had seen all day but it looked about as appealing as a plate of ash from the red mountain volcano. Everything was happening too fast and it showed no sign of stopping. It made her nauseous. Still, her fingers picked a fork and she brought a bite of the salad to her mouth. It tasted like nothing and she forced herself to swallow, chasing it with wine from her goblet. When the prongs of her fork dove into the salad again, Jorleif's voice reached her ears from where he sat across the table, formerly beside Galmar. 

Not having caught what he said, she looked up from her plate to face him, "What?" she asked and he looked almost hesitant before he responded. 

"You're using the wrong fork, Dragonborn," he said and she looked at him incredulously. 

"It's just a fork," she said, earning a frown from the steward. 

"You'll want to start with the fork furthest to your left," he offered. 

She scoffed. "That's ridiculous, you only need one fork," she said, gathering all of her extra cutlery and tossing it in a mangled heap on what was supposed to be the Jarl's plate. The clattering sound of the colliding metals was sharp enough to gather the attention of the others at the table. Lydia snorted a laugh at her right while Jorleif's eyes widened at her sudden display of anger. She'd barely been at the palace a few hours and was already nearing her limits with these people. Forks, of all things to fuss at her over, he chose forks. Thoroughly irritated and now with no desire to even attempt eating, she braced her arm on the table, resting her chin in her palm while she glared daggers at the pile of cutlery on Ulfric's plate. 

A nervous throat clearing caught her attention and her angry eyes wandered back to Jorleif who was shooting her a nervous glance before he spoke, "A lady should not place their elbows on the table." 

"Are you serious?" she snapped, her face twisting into a look of fury and damn near ready to shout him against the stone wall behind him. 

"My lady, I'm only trying to-"

"Trying to irritate me? Well, you've succeeded. And now I need no forks, because I am no longer hungry," she said, standing from her place at the table. Lydia made to follow but she held out a hand to stop her. "Stay Lydia. Enjoy your meal, if you can," she said rudely before sparing one last angry look at Jorleif before sweeping out of the dining hall, the hem of her velvet dress trailing behind her as she went. 

She marched angrily down the hallway, fists clenched tightly at her sides while she made her way back to her room. There was nothing wrong with the way she ate and having more than one fork was the most unnecessary thing she'd ever heard of in her life. She'd never been given more than one fork in Whiterun's palace and she definitely remembered seeing Irileth with her elbows on the table. Not to mention that she'd been raised her entire life with only one fork at the table. No, they were the ones eating wrong, not her. 

Her anger took her down several hallways, only subsiding when she realized she had no idea where she was. A quick glance behind her told her that there were no stairs or guards around to ask either. They simply let her walk away. She didn't know what bothered her more, the fact that she was lost or the fact that they weren't doing their jobs. Clearly she was supposed to be supervised. What she did know, was that the more time she spent in Windhelm, the more she came to hate it. With an irritated huff, she approached the door closest to her in the stone hallway and pushed it open, the door creaking angrily as she did only to be greeted by a dark room. 

Though it was unlit, she could tell by the cold air around her that it was a massive space. One of her hands came alight in a mage light and she made her way further into the room til she came across a standing candle holder. Her free hand lit each candle with her magic, their combined effort enough to illuminate the room for her to see just how huge it was. Massive didn't cover it, the room was easily more than twice as big as her home back in Whiterun. She made her way over to the first of the many tall bookshelves, passing a couple of comfortable looking chairs as she did. Books lined nearly every wall from floor to ceiling and she would definitely need a ladder of she wished to read the titles on the top shelves. The fingertips of her free hand grazed the spines of the aging books while her eyes roamed the titles in front of her finding everything from history books to fairytales. And though she could not see any dust on any of the tomes, none of the books looked recently disturbed and she wondered just how long these books had been here. 

Though there was no comparing the size, it reminded her of her mother's study at home in Helgen. She had at least a hundred books and Arielle had read most of them when she wasn't hunting with her father. A title stood out: A Dream of Sovngarde. Willing the magelight to float above herself, she grabbed the thick tome off the shelf with both hands, mentally registering just how heavy it was before she carried it over to one of the podiums. It was covered by a thin layer of dust which she quickly dispelled with a sharp exhale. What little was left behind was swiped away by one of her hands and quickly wiped on the skirt of her dress. Finally with a clean surface, she placed the large tome on the podium and opened the cover and began reading.

It was a very long, very detailed book about a soldier's dream in which he visited Sovngarde. Arielle couldn't have told you how long she stood, pouring her attention into the book but just as she read of the soldier's arrival into the Nordic afterlife, she heard the ever so familiar sound of Lydia's steel boots connecting with the rug covered stone floor as she approached form the doorway. Nevertheless, the corner of her mouth turned up at the sound. "Did you get lost too?" she asked before turning to meet her eyes, "I swear I was going the right-"

Her words died in her throat when her deep blue eyes met Ulfric's own icy ones as he approached her. It was almost eerie, watching him advance on her. A picture of a bear stalking it's prey appeared in her mind as he came to a stop but a few feet away from her, his large frame taking up a good majority of her field of vision. Then, the corner of his mouth turned up and something akin to amusement glittered in his eyes. "Had I known you were lost, Dragonborn, I would have come sooner," he said and unsure of how to respond herself, her eyes wandered back to the book she'd been reading. She doubted he would really care if she were, as long as she stayed in the castle.

"Jorleif informed me that he upset you," he said and she scowled at the book in front of her as the memory resurfaced. The book had been sufficient distraction from her recent irritations, until now. 

"Apparently I was using the wrong fork," she said bitterly and he stepped closer, til he was standing beside her in front of the podium. 

"You'll get the hang of it.." he said confidently. "and he'll get used to your dragon's temper. After all, he's put up with my own for many years." 

"If you're asking me if I feel guilty, I do not," she said stubbornly, meeting his eyes once more and she could see his amusement there. It was odd, mirth reflecting in icy eyes. His eyes wandered, landing on the book she'd chosen and he lifted the front cover enough to read the title. His brow shot up, it was the most emotion she'd seen from him aside from his outburst in the dining hall. 

"Is it accurate?" he asked her, looking back at her with genuine curiosity. 

"I haven't gotten far enough to know," she told him honestly while the fingers of one hand tapped on the corner of the podium. She briefly wondered if the gods would punish her for speaking of it, but wasn't she already being punished? "It is.. everything you hope it will be," she told him, hoping that would satisfy his curiosity. 

"You have the eyes of someone that has seen the end. I can tell you've been melancholy," he said suddenly and her frown deepened, til a look of almost pain crossed her face. Was she really that transparent? She thought she'd been hiding it well. Lydia hadn't said anything.. "You have many years left Dragonborn, dwelling on the end will do you no favors." A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. "I brought something for you," he said and she looked over, only just now realizing that one of his hands was occupied by a thin wooden box. His free hand unclasped the latch and he opened the lid, revealing a thin silver circlet inlaid with small, sapphire jewels. 

"It belonged to my mother," he explained, setting the wooden box on the podium and taking the circlet from the velvety material it was resting on. Once more her lungs felt constricted as he brought the jeweled circlet to the top of her head, pressing it gently into her hair. The silver was thin, she'd seen it with her own eyes but it somehow felt a dozen times heavier than she expected and her pulse had quickened for it. He stepped back, appraising her in the still dim candle and mage light and she did her absolute best to keep her breathing under control. "It suits you," he said finally. "Especially in this light," He gestured to the mage light still floating nearby, the corner of his mouth still turned up in a smile. 

Hers, however turned down into a deep frown. "You know our children will know magic," she said and he considered her for a moment before he gave her the closest thing to a smile he ever had. It was a similar look he gave her when she agreed to marry him. 

"They will be strong, like both of their parents," he said and she frowned, turning away from him in favor of examining a nearby bookshelf, her light following her as she went. Of course, he was probably looking forward to it. Their children would be powerful, there was no denying it. Anything that added to his arsenal was sure to please him, magical or not.

"Another thing Jorleif informed me of.." he started and she heard his steel boots approach. She kept her attention on the books in front of her while she waited for him to speak. "Balgruf's attempt to imprison you will not go unpunished," he said, his already deep voice lowering further and she froze, waiting for his next words, "One of my officers is riding to Whiterun with my axe as we speak. If he does not submit, Whiterun will burn." 

She faced him then, a look of concern on her face, "And you think that's wise? Taking the hold." 

"Whiterun will be ours eventually. It's central position in Skyrim is a necessary one to obtain," he said confidently, "And we must not allow threats against us to exist. So he will submit, or burn." She let silence fill the space around them, taking in his words. There was nothing she could say to sway his mind one way or another, even if she wanted to. Her only thoughts were of the innocent people that would no doubt be slaughtered simply for being there. War was ugly, she only hoped the Imperials would be defeated quickly so that Skyrim could be rebuilt. Ulfric would win this war, she was sure. 

Her eyes wandered, landing on another book: Olaf and the Dragon, she pulled it off the shelf. "Could I borrow this?" she asked him.

"Take it. What's mine is yours," he said assuredly, "It's late, allow me to return you to your room for the night." He offered her his left arm for the second time that day. After inhaling deeply and while gripping the book tightly against her chest in her own left arm, she took his arm, letting him lead her away from the library. They were silent as they made their way back and finally ascended the stairs of the guest wing. She did her best to remember the way so she might visit the library again. Only when they came to a stop outside her bedroom door did he speak again. "Since neither of us had dinner, would you join me for a private breakfast in the morning?" he asked and her brow creased while she considered his request. Was she even allowed to refuse? 

"You mean, you and I, and a ridiculous amount of forks?" she asked finally and the corner of his mouth turned up once more. 

"Just two. One for each of us," he assured her and she shrugged. 

"Alright," she said, wondering why he hadn't just ordered her to and his free hand took hers from his arm, nearly covering it entirely as he brought it to his lips to place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. She frowned at the gesture.

"You don't have to do that," she said immediately, taking her hand from his and clutching the book to her chest just a bit tighter. "I know what this is and harbor no fantasies. And I would prefer not to pretend," she said before opening her door, stepping forward only to stop and face him one last time, "Goodnight, Jarl Ulfric."


	4. What Could Have Been

Thick flurries drifted slowly to the ground around her while her eyes focused on the target across the snow covered training yard. She released the arrow only for it to sail across the yard, undisturbed by the falling snow to strike her target perfectly. With the last of her arrows fired, she started toward the practice dummy to retrieve them while doing her best to ignore the newly recruited Stormcloak soldiers training at the other side of the yard. She could feel their gaze periodically falling on her and was sure Galmar was still outside as well, continuing to lead their exercises.

Her breakfast with the Jarl did not come to be, not that it mattered much one way or the other. Jorleif came to her room early in the morning to inform her that the Jarl would be meeting with his officers and responding to letters from the various camps around Skyrim for much of the day. Though, with the extra time allotted to her and nothing better to do but read her borrowed book, she allowed Rona to braid the top of her hair to better display the jeweled circlet. With all of her dresses hemmed, the woman was desperate to make herself useful and Arielle still had no intentions to let the woman help her dress, so reluctantly, she relinquished the appearance of her hair to the Nord. The dress currently clinging to her small frame was another velvet one, this time the color of red wine and sported the same rounded neckline as the blue one. A thick cloak of black wool was clasped around her neck, with the fabric falling behind her to help keep her warm, but not obstruct her arms from properly wielding her bow. She'd been in the training yard for a while now, looking quite ridiculous with her worn leather bracers strapped over the fine sleeves of her gown while she used her bow purely out of boredom.

She heard the familiar crunch of Lydia's steel boots against the snow while she pulled her arrows out of the dummy's chest and head. Til now she'd been swinging her sword at an armored dummy several paces away. "I would suggest a friendly competition, but neither of us will miss. Instead, I'll join you," said Lydia, just a bit breathless from swinging her sword and the corner of her mouth turned up a bit as she removed the last of her arrows from the dummy's head. 

"That's right. How many dragons have fallen to us?" she asked the woman who snorted a laugh. 

"I won't lie, I lost track after sixteen," she said while the two walked back to Arielle's chosen spot. The two women stood but a few paces apart, raised their bows and took aim before their arrows sailed straight into the target's chest and head. Too many dragon's to count had fallen to their combined efforts. 

"I think a contest of arrows would end with whichever of us tired first," Arielle said before sparing a glance at the still training soldiers. Her face soured when she locked eyes with Galmar once more.

She tore her eyes away and instead glared daggers at the target in front of her. She was sure he made his mind up about her the second she refused to join the war. She hated the way he looked at her, like she was a tool, a thing to be used. He would bleed her dry and then some if he could and she was once again thankful Lydia had spoken her truth, even if it almost ended in bloodshed between the two housecarls. But he still stared and she still hated him for it. So much so that she allowed her irritation to blossom and suddenly threw her head back, releasing a breath of dragon's fire into the snowy sky above her. Orange and red flames spread out, pluming high in the sky, a stark contrast to the icy white snow around them and she watched as it slowly dissipated into nothing. If he was going to stare, she'd give him something to stare at.

"I think you scared the soldiers," Lydia said, her tone full of amusement as Arielle turned away from the straw stuffed dummy and trudged through the snow toward the castle. Her bow was in her left hand while her right gripped the strap of her quiver in a grip so tight her fingers felt tingly. 

"I can not stand that man," she muttered to the Nord woman walking beside her. 

"You're not alone in that," she responded immediately, once again leaving no question about her feelings toward the other housecarl. 

"Thank the gods for that."

No sooner did they step foot back into the palace did Rona approach them, all too eager to let her know it was time for her wedding dress to be fitted. And just like that, her irritation evaporated only to be replaced by a constricting of her lungs. The pair followed her, down the candle-lit hallways and up the now somewhat familiar stairs of the guest wing. When they made it to her room, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the beautiful Stormcloak-blue dress and white fur cloak laying across her freshly made bed and she was once again reminded of how quickly everything was happening. It was too much too soon.

She tore her eyes away from the garment, searching for anything else to look at and they landed on the bottle of wine sitting on her table. Her bow and quiver were placed beside the door and the bottle was in her hands before she even registered what she was doing. The thick cork made a loud pop when she pulled it off. Her hand tipped the bottle over one of the silver goblets on the table til it was filled with a generous amount of wine and she wasted absolutely no time exchanging the bottle for the goblet, immediately bringing it to her lips. She drank deeply, the heavily spiced wine tasting almost sour on her tongue but she swallowed it anyway, draining the goblet. "I'll get some food," Lydia said, quickly disappearing out of the room and Arielle re-filled her goblet. After swallowing a few large gulps, she set the now half empty goblet down and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Rona was fixing her with a look of concern when she turned to face her but she ignored it while she started the process of undressing.

Rona might have been a woman, but that didn't make it any easier to strip down in front of her. When she was bare, she covered her chest with her hands while Rona helped her into the dress. She faced away from the large mirror that sat on her dresser, having no desire to see herself in the wedding dress. Just knowing it was on her was enough for her lungs to feel as tight as if she were wearing a corset, keeping her breaths shallow and unsteady. "Please hurry," she said, her voice sounding choked and the woman went to work, her fingers pinching and pinning the fabric where it was loose on her small frame. Lydia returned just as Rona put the last pin in place, bringing with her a tray of snowberries, soft cheese, bread and another bottle of wine.

Once given the all clear, she nearly tore the dress off herself, no longer caring who was in the room and threw the wine colored dress back on before sending Rona away and insisting she take the dress with her. Two days and she'd be married. It was too close. A wave of nausea rolled her stomach just as the door clicked shut and she braced her palms against the dresser, taking deep breaths to steady herself. "I've refilled your cup," Lydia said and she looked over, seeing a great deal of sympathy in the woman's brown eyes. 

Despite her troubles, the corner of her mouth turned up before she spoke. "Smart woman," she said, forcing herself to stand up straight. A deep breath invaded her lungs and she made her way over to the small table Lydia was already comfortably seated at. One of her delicate hands lifted her goblet to her lips and this time, she barely tasted the wine's spiced flavor as she drained the goblet.

Sometime later, when the light outside her bedroom window had significantly dimmed with the setting sun, a soft knocking at the door caught the attention of the two women and Arielle called for them to enter. The door opened just enough for Jorleif to poke his head inside and inform the women that the Jarl requested their presence in the war room. With a heavy sigh, Arielle got to her feet, somewhat delighted to find that she was steady on her feet and confident she could make the trip to the war room just fine. A few long nights with nothing better to do found Lydia and Arielle sharing more than a few bottles together in friendly competition to see who could hold their drink better. Arielle lost to the Nord woman every time, but she had greatly improved in the amount of alcohol she could hold.

Confident they would follow, Jorleif left the women to make their way at their own pace. The stone hallway was just a bit colder without her cloak around her but her dress kept her warm enough as she made her way downstairs with Lydia in tow. Candle-lit sconces lit their path, the brightness of their flames almost hurt to look at and she found herself squinting her eyes from the effects of the wine she'd drunk.

Moments later they approached the war room and she could hear Galmar's gravelly voice even before she reached the slightly ajar door. "...putting power in the hands of children," he said and Lydia scoffed from somewhere behind her before Ulfric's deep voice responded as she pushed the door open. "It's not our place to question the gods," he said while she entered the war room, both of the men's eyes landing on her.

Lydia followed her as she approached the large war table in the center of the room. Though it was more of a table pushed against a desk Ulfric was seated at with a large map of Skyrim sprawled out on the table top. The map was littered with tiny red and blue flags with small notes hastily scribbled next to each one. Arrows and harsh lines were drawn all over that looked to be battle plans but Arielle wasn't too sure. Dozens of letters and documents sat on the top of the large desk, surrounding the Nord in a mountain of parchment and a part of her mind wondered how he even kept track of it all. A bigger part of her mind realized that neither man had said anything since she entered and her brows shot up before she looked at Ulfric. "You wanted me?" she asked, wondering why in oblivion he hadn't said anything yet. His eyes roamed her face she saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile when they landed on her still braided hair decorated by the thin silver circlet. 

"What happened in the training yard?" he asked almost casually, his eyes dropping to the parchment in front of him long enough to scribble a quick reply.

"I shot a few arrows. They were my own so don't worry," she said, not wanting him to think she bothered his war equipment and Galmar scoffed loud enough to earn her attention. 

"You weren't flexing your power in front of a couple dozen recruits?" he asked in that raspy, gravelly voice, his tone making her want to roll her eyes. Instead she gave him the dirtiest look she could muster. 

"You kept staring at me, I was only giving you something to look at." She said matter-of-factly and he narrowed his eyes at her. 

Her cheeks burned with the anger she felt for the man and just when she opened her mouth to speak, Ulfric spoke again, his deep voice effectively muting anything she could have said, "Galmar is right. If you have no intentions of joining the war, I'd ask you to keep your shouting off the training grounds-"

"Are you asking me not to be the Dragonborn? I thought that's why we were here. Where exactly am I allowed to exist, Jarl Ulfric?" she asked, boldly interrupting him and clenching her hands into tights fists at her sides. The Jarl's own eyes narrowed at her, his icy gaze studying her face for a long moment. She couldn't place what he was looking for but she did catch the twitch of his brow raising and look of surprise in his eyes. 

"Are you drunk?" he finally asked, almost incredulously and her face morphed into one of fury. Yes, yes she was drunk. Because she went from constantly travelling the province and fighting dragons to being locked inside a castle where she was expected to what, sit still and be poked with pins and let people dress her like she was some doll? And now she was being scolded for shouting, the very reason he was trying to marry her. Ridiculous didn't even begin to cover it. 

"There was nothing else to do!" she snapped and Galmar snorted from where he stood across the table from her. 

"You could pick up a sword.."

"I am not fighting this war for you. I am not a _weapon!_ " she yelled, the walls themselves trembling as her thu'um fought to break free from the force of her words. Deep breaths invaded her lungs as her anger slowly began to wane. The smirk Galmar was now wearing as his eyes watched a slight mix of dusty debris and pebbles of stone fall from the ceiling to land on the map between them was downright infuriating. 

Slowly, he placed his palms flat on the tables surface before he spoke in that same gravelly voice. "Are you sure about that?"

"You son of a-"

"Enough!" Ulfric shouted, his fist coming down hard against the desk as he did. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the anger rolling off Ulfric, his sudden deep inhale only further proved that fact. And instead of speaking, which would most likely only cause further problems for herself, she settled for glaring at the man across from her. A moment of silence passed while they exchanged dirty looks, until Ulfric spoke. "She's right," he said, almost too calmly and both Galmar and Arielle's heads turned to face him, expressions of surprise on both of their faces. 

"What?" echoed both of their voices and she could swear she saw something akin to amusement glittering in the Jarls eyes. 

"If the men can't handle the sight of a Nordic legend, then what in the gods' names are they doing here?"

A look of genuine confusion dawned her features while she struggled to comprehend him suddenly taking her side. Though, it suddenly occured to her that any display of power she made, especially as someone he had control over only further helped his cause. He was using her and always would even if she never lifted a blade in his name. Her power, through marriage was his power. A deep frown came to her face at the realization and she could feel the alcohol fueled anger wane to be replaced by that ever empty feeling, worming it's way deeper inside her with each day that passed.

Before another word was spoken, Jorleif's voice sounded from the doorway behind her announcing that dinner was ready. Her eyes had dropped from the Jarl to his desk, but she could still see him stand up in the corner of her vision. He approached, a wall of wool and steel and fur coming to a stop at her side. "Shall we?" he asked her and her eyes finally moved, landing on the steel covered arm he held out to her. She accepted his arm, without emotion and he immediately began leading them out of the war room and toward the dining hall.

Several thoughts ran through her mind while they walked down the rug covered hallway. One of the most prominent ones involved Lydia. She'd always been a sort of safety blanket for Arielle, she could always count on the woman to have her back and was the only true friend she'd had since Helgen was destroyed and they'd become close enough for Arielle to consider her family. But somehow, the ever present sound of her steel boots following behind her was no longer enough to make her feel safe. And she was only just beginning to realize, that there would be no going back to the person she used to be. The happy girl with dreams of becoming a healer like her mother and a prized hunter like her father was gone, replaced by the cold future of a loveless marriage. She would spend her life in a constant state of mistrust, waiting for the next betrayal to reveal itself. And she wondered.. what was the point of any of it?

When the four of them entered the dining hall, Ulfric immediately led her to the dining table. She did not look, but she could hear there were far more voices in the room than the previous night and she wondered if the long table might actually be full of diners. Her eyes landed on the ridiculous amount of cutlery in front of her and she scowled at the sight of it all. One of her hands reached for her goblet and brought it to her lips. It was water, with snowberries and juniper berries floating inside and her frown deepened as she swallowed. Her mind couldn't help but wander to the poor and unprivileged scraping by with scraps while these people threw fruit away to simply give their water a better taste. And she thought the extra forks were ridiculous enough..

Just as the first course was being served, a plate of nuts and berries over a bed of lettuce, an almost familiar voice sounded behind her. A movement of blue in the corner of her eye caught her attention where he came to stand beside the Jarl. Another soldier, passing a piece of parchment to Ulfric and she used the fork furthest to her left to move the unappealing salad around her plate while he read the letter he was given. Whatever it was must have pleased him because he insisted the soldier join them at the table before passing the letter to Galmar to read. Galmar was quiet as he held the letter in front of himself before he let out a pleased sounding grunt as the newcomer sat to his left, "Excellent. With this victory, we'll have the Pale back under Stormcloak control soon enough. Whiterun too. This is excellent news, Ralof."

The fork she was holding clattered to the plate loudly at the sound of his name. She looked up for the first time, locking eyes with a man she thought to have died over a year ago. He looked the same, unchanged by the passing of time and she felt the blood drain from her face at the sight of him staring back at her, disbelief swimming in his own blue eyes.

"Arielle."

"Ralof."

They spoke at the same time, her voice sounding choked as her lungs constricted around her words, nearly forbidding them from leaving her throat. She couldn't believe it was really him. But it was. Golden hair hanging to his shoulders, with two thick braids in the front. Blue eyes, a stubble covered jaw. The only difference now being the Stormcloak uniform she'd seen him wear so many times before when he was stationed near Helgen had been exchanged for a nicer one, more decorated as if he'd risen in rank. "You will address the Dragonborn formally, soldier," Ulfric said, with no small amount of venom in his already deep voice from where he sat at her left and Ralof's eyes widened in shock.

"Dragonborn?"

"I thought you were dead."

Once more, their voices overlapped each other while the memories came back to her. Memories of better times when the most she had to worry about was whether her and her fathers hunt would be successful and what color dress to wear to the inn when Ralof came by to escort her for a tankard of juniper mead. He'd been so kind and her father approved since he was both a soldier and respectful so he was allowed to court her, until he was suddenly stationed elsewhere. It ended, just as quickly as it began and she didn't see him again until a few months later when he was carted back into Helgen, destined for the chopping block and her life changed forever. Suddenly awash with sadness over what could have been, her eyes dropped to the unappealing salad in front of her.

The castle's bard was still strumming the lute, the soft lyric-less tune now the only audible sound beside the awkward scraping of forks against plates and hushed conversations at the opposite end of the table. She could feel the eyes of both Ulfric and Ralof on her while hers stayed trained on the fork that continued to push her food around. The rest of the dinner was painfully long and she forced herself to eat what little her stomach could handle without tossing it back up. When dinner finally ended, she immediately excused herself without sparing a glance at anyone else and all but ran back to her room for the remainder of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:
> 
> "Helgen, I used to be sweet on a girl from here."


	5. Temperament

The prongs of her fork pulled at the flaky sweetroll on her plate and she couldn't help but feel absurd for it. A week prior and she would have been eating it with her hands and not at all concerned by the sticky mess it would leave on her fingers. But now, with only a day left until she would become a Jarl's wife, she was expected to eat the warm pastry in front of her with fancy cutlery. Though, that didn't stop her from resting her head on her palm and bracing her elbow against the table. She caught the look in Jorleif's eyes, but one harsh glare sent his way and he quickly averted his eyes.

Steel boots approached from behind and she assumed Ulfric, who had yet to show himself at the breakfast table. She was surprised however when the heavy boots rounded the table, Stormcloak blue armour catching her attention as Ralof took the seat across from her. The look of deep sadness in his eyes had hers dropping back to the half-eaten pastry on her plate. A quick move of her hand brought her goblet of wine to her lips and she took small sips, nursing the drink to hopefully help the headache reverberating in her skull. If she were back at her house in Whiterun she could have made a potion to help the hangover. The house was small but it was cozy, had everything she needed and it was hers. She hardly had anything that was hers anymore. "I thought you were dead too, Arie-Dragonborn," he said quietly.

A deep frown came to her face as the memories rushed back. She remembered the way he looked at her, that very first day they met and the feelings it stirred within her. No one had ever looked at her that way before he did. And he was so kind, more than willing to ask her father's permission to ask her on a date. Her father immediately liked him. Though being a soldier definitely helped him out a bit. But he was respectful and not once did he pressure her to do anything. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers. "You never wrote," she said, once more poking at the pastry with what she was sure was the wrong fork.

"I never had the chance. We battled for Winterhold and after, I was sent directly back to Falkreath. That's when we were captured," he said, his voice thick with sadness. Her frown deepened at that. She could remember their many conversations when they talked about their hopes and dreams for the future. Having come from a small village himself, Ralof was looking forward to a quiet life after the war ended and was more than forward when it came to talks of settling down. Arielle was hoping to become a healer, like her mother was for the village of Helgen. The war kept her busy most of the time healing the wounded soldiers but it was meaningful work. But, all of her dreams of a peaceful future were dashed and divided when the World Eater appeared, bringing with him the destruction of everything she ever held dear. She would never forget the day her life was ripped away from her only to be replaced by blood and death and a burden of responsibility she could never escape from. Like a chain around her ankles pulling her deeper and deeper into the unrelenting cold of the Sea of Ghosts.

"If I knew you survived.."

"Don't," she said quickly, her features morphing into an almost pained expression. "It's too late." It would do no good now. It was far too late for that conversation. Her future might be a cold one, but it was clear and there was no point in indulging fantasies. Her eyes wandered over to the maids currently decorating the room for the wedding to come. The sight causing her stomach to roll from a sudden wave of nausea and she inhaled deeply before she excused herself from the table, insisting that Lydia stay and find her later.

The smooth velvet of the deep purple gown she wore trailed behind her as she swept out of the room. The neckline was squared and showed off her father's amulet even better than the other two she'd worn. Though, she was partial to the blue one. The top of her blonde hair was freshly braided and the circlet that was pressed onto the top of her head was polished. She didn't even know circlets needed to be polished until Rona spent a few agonizingly long minutes doing so before finally placing it on her head.

After wandering the halls for a bit she found herself gravitating back toward the library. Inside the massive room, she reveled in the bright light pouring in the stained glass windows. The brightened room, seemingly secluded form the busiest parts of the castle offered a slight respite to her sorrow and discontent. The first thing she did was start a fire in the large fireplace. She was more than surprised to discover that there was even wood available since the room was clearly not used very often, if at all. But there was plenty of logs looking freshly chopped and resting off to the side and she helped herself to them.

Once the fire was burning brightly and spreading it's warmth, thanks to her spell, she layered a few of the more plush rugs that she found around the room in front of the fireplace before grabbing the book that still sat on the podium. A Dream Of Sovngarde. She laid on her front, with the soft rugs beneath her and the book open in front of her while she lost herself in a stranger's dream.

_"You find yourself in Sovngarde, hall of the honored dead. Now, what would you have of me, son of the north?" he bellowed._

_"I seek counsel," said I, "for tomorrow we fight a desperate battle and my heart is full of fear."_

_Ysgramor raised his tankard to his lips and drank until the cup was empty. Then he spoke once more._

_"Remember this always, son of the north- a Nord is judged not by the manner in which he lived, but the manner in which he died."_

She wasn't sure how long she laid on those rugs in the library when she finally tore her eyes away from the book to glare harshly at the barely glowing embers of the fire. The words of Ysgramor echoed in her mind, once again proving her thoughts that her life was pointless to be true. None of it mattered. Only the end.

A knocking at the door had her attention and she looked over to see Lydia, in all of her steel covered glory standing almost casually in the doorway. Though the expression on her face was anything but and she could see the look of irritation in the woman's eyes. "He wants you," she said flatly, her emphasis on the 'he' part leaving no question as to who exactly was requesting her presence. Awful timing, she couldn't help but consider it. With the depressing words of the tome still swimming in her mind she released a heavy sigh before she reluctantly rose from the soft rugs and made her way to the doorway. Lydia accompanied her as she started back down the hallway in the direction she'd come.

"War room?" she asked and she could almost hear Lydia's eyes rolling at her question. For where else would the man be aside from the room he'd devoted to his beloved war. 

"Of course," she answered, no small amount of annoyance in her tone. "Rona wants you to try on the dress again," she added after a moment and this time it was Arielle's eyes that rolled. 

"I'd sooner dance on coals than wear that thing again before tomorrow," she answered bitterly. Neither spoke again, letting the conversation die as they neared the more busy part of the castle passing guards and maids and even Jorleif as he breathlessly instructed them on placements of decorations for the wedding and she fought very hard not to roll her eyes again.

The door to the war room was open, so she entered without announcement. Her eyes briefly scanned the room, more crowded than she'd ever seen it with several Stormcloak officers seated around the war table, each with a drink in their hands. Which she couldn't help but find odd. Alcohol and battle planning didn't seem like the kinds of things you should mix, but it was very Nordic of them to try to do so. Ralof was there, though she did not look at him, only knew it was him from the corner of her vision. She locked eyes with Ulfric, who was seated at his desk and surrounded by a mountain of parchment, his icy eyes unreadable as he stared back at her.

"Yes, Jarl Ulfric?" she asked, noticing he had yet to speak and figured he was waiting on formality. 

"Leave us," he instructed, the tone of his voice causing her pulse to increase while the soldiers, even Galmar left the room. His eyes stayed firmly locked hers as they filed out and only when the door clicked shut did he speak. "Where have you been?" he asked, almost too casually and a deep crease formed in her brow while she played catch up to the sudden change in energy in the room. He brought a bottle of ale to his lips while he waited for her answer.

"The library," she said finally and he hummed in response before he stood from the desk. He rounded it slowly, once again reminding her of a bear stalking it's prey as he approached her, a massive wall of a man to come and stand beside her. She was forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes as he towered over her. Though he quickly tore his away to land on the map of Skyrim in front of them. 

"Balgruf has returned my axe," he said. "Come sunrise on Loredas, Galmar will lead the Stormcloak army to Whiterun and take possession of the hold." A frown came to her face at the news. She had hoped the Jarl of Whiterun would see reason, but he was not a very reasonable man when he was angry. Still, her heart would bleed for the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. "Vignar is set to become Jarl," he continued and her frown deepened for it.

"Why not Hrongar?" she asked, turning to face the man. "He holds Nordic traditions close to his heart and openly encourages the worship of Talos, despite his brother's warnings. He's honest," she said. Hrongar was one of the first to stand up for Arielle, immediately accepting what she was and defending her to anyone that doubted it. He was a good man and the first to speak up when Balgruf tried to have her arrested. Vignar was much less direct, always hinting that the Jarl should be replaced but never openly voicing his worship of Talos. The man was a sleaze. "I've met Vignar, he-"

"Then you should know he lent thirty of his years to the Legion and fought the Dominion in the Great War. He is a well respected veteran and will make a fine Jarl for Whiterun," he said, the absolution in his voice doing nothing but irritating her.

"So because he's good at killing people, he will make a decent ruler for the hold?" she asked incredulously. She could understand wanting to honor his supporter for his service but turning over control of the entire hold to the man was a bit much. Hrongar would no doubt cast his vote for the man to be High King of Skyrim, not to mention his years spent in his brother's political shadow. Vignar may have war experience, but Hrongar knows how to run a hold.

Ulfric scoffed. "And because you're good at killing dragons, you think you know better than I about high politics?"

Her lips pressed into a firm line, else her next words would not have been kind. Her eyes landed on the map of Skyrim in front of them. She could see more hastily drawn plans with charcoal, all of them centered around Whiterun. Little arrows indicating points of attack around the city. The man was impossible to deal with. There would be no swaying his opinion, he was far too stubborn. Bear of Windhelm indeed. "Did you bring me here to insult me?" she asked, wondering about the point of this conversation. He clearly didn't ask her here for her opinion, so there must have been something else he wanted.

"What was the extent of your relationship with Ralof?" he asked plainly. She turned to face him, lips parted and an expression of surprise on her face. Though it quickly morphed into a look of pure agitation. 

"That is none of your business," she said immediately and watched as his own icy eyes narrowed, like the sharpest of blades pointing right at her. 

"It is," he assured her, his own expression set in a firm sneer, "Tomorrow you will be my wife. My. Wife."

"Whatever did or did not happen between us is none of your business," she reiterated. She hadn't asked him about his past and she would be damned to tell him about her own. Her arrangement with Ulfric wasn't a relationship, she would not reveal her heart to someone in any measure that viewed her as property.

He considered her for a long moment, his icy eyes roaming her face before he finally scoffed. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said rudely. "A woman with a face like yours is sure to make rounds." 

Her mouth fell open at the insult. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd never so much as kissed a man before and here he was calling her a whore. Her face morphed into one of rage. "You-"

"Watch it," he growled, displaying his own anger, despite the fact that it was entirely unwarranted, "And if you want him to continue to draw breath, you will not encourage him." Her face paled at Ulfric's words. Disbelief swam in her mind. She couldn't believe he was actually threatening one of his own officers lives but his expression more than conveyed the truth of his words. She was suddenly awash with fear for Ralof's life. 

"I haven't," she said quickly, hoping to quell the flame of his anger.

Before either of them could speak again, a harsh knocking sounded at the door before it was pushed open. "Not now, Jorleif," Ulfric nearly growled at Jorleif as he approached the Jarl with several dozen pieces of parchment. Galmar filed in behind him with an unreadable look on his face.

"I'm so sorry, my Jarl but Viola's at it again. She's posted these all over the city again and stirring up fear. The people want answers." 

Ulfric sighed heavily, bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, looking more than aggravated by this turn of events. "By the gods.."

"I say throw her in a cell for a night. Calm her right down," Galmar said and Arielle frowned before her eyes landed on the stack of parchment Jorleif was still holding and she took them. Surprisingly, he let her and her frown deepened at what she saw. Incredibly detailed descriptions of several murders taking place in the streets of Windhelm that have gone unpunished for months, earning the offender the name of 'The Butcher'. 

"Murderer?" she asked incredulously, her eyes locking on Jorleif, "Why hasn't he been stopped?"

"The guards are looking into it.." he said before looking back to the Jarl, "My lord, I fear a night in the jails would do more harm than good. I think we need to send a stronger message to the woman." He spoke so calmly, as if he was utterly unconcerned with what was happening outside the palace walls. She could hardly blame the woman for the posters. She was a citizen of Windhelm, living in fear and no one was doing anything about it.

Ulfric scoffed. "I don't suppose you could tell her that I presently have larger concerns? Such as all of Skyrim?"

Arielle couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You can't be serious," she said incredulously, turning her attention back to the Jarl, "These are your people.. you have to do something about this."

"We're in the middle of a war here, Dragonborn," he said, shooting her a harsh glare, "Or have you forgotten?"

She was suddenly awash with anger at the man. These were his people and he was using the war as an excuse to turn his back on them. "If you'll allow a murderer to walk freely in the streets of Windhelm, then you may as well reserve a room at Candlehearth Hall for Elenwen herself!"

Several things occured to Arielle and all of them at the same time. The first, was that she was suddenly on the floor. The next thing was the circlet that was on her head now clattered loudly against the stone floor in front of her and she was surrounded by the crudely written posters she'd been holding. A sharp pain erupted in her left cheek that she immediately clasped a hand over as if that could somehow stop the stinging beneath her palm. The realization that Ulfric had just slapped her hit her harshly, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head.

The room was quiet. Several agonizingly long seconds of silence passed before her free hand rose to her chin that was suddenly wet. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood on the tips of her fingers when she pulled her hand away. Her lip was busted.. by the man she was set to marry in a day's time. A look of horror overtook her features at the sight of the blood he'd drawn and she barely registered the tears welling in her eyes.

She gripped the war table and pulled herself to her feet, not caring that the blood, her blood, on her hand made a mess on their precious map. Without another word spoken, she quickly made her way out of the room, her left hand still pressed against her stinging flesh as she did. Several emotions welled in her as she all but ran back to her room. Anger, hurt, fear.. but most of all, was shame. Not once did she ever witness her father raising his hand to her mother and the fact that she willingly accepted a betrothal to a man that would hit her, had her sick with shame. A choked sob escaped her at the thought of disappointing her father and she couldn't make it back to her room fast enough.

The humiliation she felt was beyond imagining. There was no stopping her tears as the gravity of her decision to marry the Jarl descended upon her. The choice she made was turning out to be much more horrific than she originally anticipated.

And her future, already bleak descended further and comparable only to Oblivion itself as she likened the 'bear of Windhelm' to a most heinous daedra.


	6. The Butcher

Arielle sat in her room for an unknown amount of time. What she did know, was that it was still light out when her tears ran dry. Mid-afternoon she quickly assumed after sparing a glance at her window. The fire in her room hadn't been stoked and was now dying down to smoldering embers. She glared at them dejectedly, as if they were to blame for her current misery. No, she had no-one to blame but herself for that. It was her own foolish choice that led her here..

Her fingertips anxiously tapped against her knee as her mind replayed the conversation from start to finish in her mind. Aside from him putting a hand on her, she just couldn't believe Ulfric wasn't taking the threat to his citizens seriously. Allowing a murderer to have free roam of the streets while he waged his war against the 'oppressors' of the people was hypocritical at best. From what she managed to read of the parchments she gathered that there had already been three killings. Three citizens killed while the Jarl did nothing, leaving the people to live in fear.

No, she couldn't allow this. Her feet were taking her to her closet before she even realized what she was doing. What she would do. She would find the killer herself. Luckily, she still had her old clothes, for she could not leave the castle in the fancy dresses she'd worn the past few days, she would stand out immediately. But in a mage's robe and cloak with the hood up, no-one would be the wiser. She dressed in her old clothes, a thoroughly worn out but comfortable mage's robe, an old cloak and for good measure, her nice new one to cover it all. Which, would hopefully make it all the more easy to slip out of the castle. 

Once she was fully dressed with her hair pulled back into the cloak's hood, she left her bedroom. The soldier at the end of the hallway said nothing as she passed him and if her mood wasn't beyond sour, she would have smiled at her plan's effectiveness. To them it would look like she was going to the training yard, as she had done the day before. She passed several other guards and maids on her way to the kitchen that mirrored the first guard's disinterest. In her mind, that would be the easiest place to slip out of the castle. Of course, she didn't know exactly where the kitchen was but she had a pretty good idea from watching the servers come and go at dinnertime. Thankfully there was no-one in the dining room she would want to avoid. A wave of guilt washed over her at Lydia's absence, she'd been so upset and humiliated that she dismissed her harshly on her way back to her room and resolved to apologize when next she saw her. 

Arielle followed the small hallway out of the dining hall that opened up into a massive kitchen. At least three cooking pits and two ovens lined the far wall with a long table in the center of the room that was nearly covered by vegetables, cuts of meat and piles of rising dough. She walked, as casually as she could muster to not rouse suspicion as she crossed the room to the wooden door leading outside. Once outside, she was immediately greeted by a gust of icy wind that chilled her to the bone and she hugged her cloak tighter around herself for it. A quick glance around herself confirmed that there were no guards around, though she was sure there would be soon. 

Her worn leather boots crunched softly in the snow as she made her way around the castle, the cold leather almost making her wish for the comfort of the fur lined slippers she'd been wearing during her stay. It didn't take long til she was near the front courtyard and she briefly considered the guards that would no doubt be standing at the castle's doors. She knew at least one would be there and after considering her options, she removed the fancy wool cloak leaving her in just her mages robe and worn linen cloak. If she was lucky, the guards would think her the kitchen help or even Wuunferth, the castle's mage from a distance. At worst, her walk would be over and she'd be escorted back inside to await the Jarl's wrath.

A deep breath invaded her lungs and upon her exhale, she forced her feet to move, ignoring the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her veins as she casually retreated from the palace. She almost couldn't believe it when she actually rounded the stone wall of the castle's courtyard. She did it. She broke out of the palace. If she wasn't suffering from a gods awful day due to the abuse of a beastly Nord, she might have cracked a smile from the success of her plan. Instead, her pace quickened and she put as much ground between herself and the castle as possible. They would find her missing eventually she knew, so she would have to hurry. The first order of business would be to find this Viola woman to get as much information as possible about the murders. 

The marketplace is usually a great place to hear rumors and get information and Arielle decided that she would start there. Being careful of the soldiers standing guard, she made her way through the market, passing haggling patrons and vocal shopkeepers advertising their wares. A stroke of luck, the first one in how long, she spotted an aging Imperial woman handing out parchments and urgently whispering to those that passed her. Though Arielle wasn't the only one who noticed and she was forced to pull her hood around her face more to shield herself as a guard pushed past her to approach the woman. He stalked over, his armored boots angrily hitting the snowy ground as he crossed the marketplace only to slap the posters out of her hands when he reached her. The parchments scattered around her feet and the graying woman looked at the guard with a broken expression, one she was becoming painfully familiar with herself. 

"This is the last warning Viola. I'll drag you to the stocks next time. Give it a rest gods damnit!" he all but shouted, punctuating his words with a sharp jab of his glove covered index finger at her face.

The scene before her strengthened her resolve to do what she could to help and no sooner did the guard leave did she approach the woman that was now collecting her half-soaked parchments from the slushy snow around her. Arielle crouched down beside the woman, earning her attention as she picked up a familiar poster and handed it to her. She watched as the woman's face went through the emotions, her eyes widening as it dawned on her just who was in front of her. Arielle pressed an index finger to her still busted lip, pursing them and tilting her head to signal the woman to follow without a word. 

She followed and they quickly made their way out of the marketplace. Once she was sure they were away from prying ears, she turned on the woman who looked already about to speak. "Dragonborn.. I can't believe it's you, I-"

"-I'm sorry to interrupt you but I need to know everything you can tell me about this murderer. I don't have much time," she said and the woman shot her a confused look and it dawned on her that her choice of words could cause further problems between her and the Jarl, "They'll be expecting me back soon.. to plan the wedding," she tacked on, hoping it was enough. 

It seemed to be, because she quickly delved into a verbal account of the repeating event, sparing no gruesome details as she did and Arielle was mortified by what she learned. The 'Butcher' had been carving women up and removing pieces of each woman he killed. It was one of the most horrific things she'd ever heard in her life and her stomach rolled nauseously while Viola continued to speak. The fear in the Imperial woman's voice was palpable and her heart broke for it. The fact that Ulfric would allow his own citizens to live their lives in fear's tight grip sickened her more than anything else. And it was all made so much worse when Viola revealed that there had been a fourth victim, this very morning and the killer still roamed free.

"Where did it happen?" Arielle asked the woman who was very much trying to hold back her tears at this point. 

"In the graveyard," she replied shakily, "Susanna's mother passed away last winter, we were close. Susanna visits her grave often." 

Arielle frowned and her small hands found their way to the woman's shoulders. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I know this is wretched of me to ask, but could you take me to the graveyard, or point me in it's direction?" she asked the sniffling woman, still sorrowing over her loss. Wrinkled fingers found their way to her eyes where she wiped her tears away and gave a nod. 

After allowing the woman a moment to collect herself, the two started off in the direction of the graveyard. Fresh snow was falling around them, thick clumps of white only adding to the height of the snow beneath their feet and she couldn't help but liken the constant state of the frozen ground to the pit of her soul that fell deeper into a cold despair with each passing day. 

Before she could deliver attention and rumination to the depths of those thoughts, the women arrived at the graveyard. The sight she was met with was a horrific one indeed and Viola choked on a sob before she turned away from the bloody mess still littered across the icy ground. For all the fighting Arielle had done, seeing a bloody mess of a person's insides still made her stomach roll and one of her hands found it's way to her mouth purely out of surprise of the brutal sight before her. Susanna had been moved, she assumed to be dressed for proper burial but the blood remained, staining the snow. It was.. everywhere. Whoever had killed her, had done so savagely and.. hastily it seemed. Too hastily, like their identity was close to being exposed. It was messy, almost too messy and the amount of blood suddenly struck her as too much to be considered from one person alone. Susanna fought back and her face paled when she noticed the clear trail of little red droplets leading away from the scene of the crime. 

A rage built up in her as she immediately began following the trail, Viola staggering to catch up to her angry pace as she did. "Where are you going?!" she asked, breathlessly as she fought to keep pace with the younger woman. Arielle stopped abruptly and pointed an index finger at a lone drop of blood on the snow. "There," she said, her blue eyes quickly scanning the snow for the next drop, "It's snowing, we need to hurry," she said, sparing a glance at the clouded sky that showed no signs of stopping it's snowy assault. The two women followed the trail as fast as they could, following it into the housing district of the most noble families of Windhelm. 

"I don't understand," Viola confessed outwardly as they searched for the blood trail that had disappeared in the street, most likely covered by snow. "Where could he hide here-" she cut herself short with a gasp that immediately had Arielle's attention. 

"What is it?" she asked, taking the few feet that separated them and placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. 

"Hjerim," she said and Arielle gave her a look of confusion. "One of the houses. It's been empty for months. Ever since the first woman, Friga, one of the Shatter-Shield's girls was found murdered. She owned it. Do you think-"

"Take me there," Arielle said, noting the broken expression on the woman's face. But she relented and led the way, praying to the god's for strength as she did. And when they got to the abandoned house, there was no mistaking the smeared blood on the handle of the door. He, or she was in there. Every once in a while Arielle would get a sense of intuition and right now, it was telling her that the only thing separating her from the 'Butcher' was a wall. As much as she would want to end the monster herself for their heinous crimes, she knew the families deserved public justice. She steered Viola away from the houses and sent the woman on her way before she made her way back to the marketplace only to return to the house with the same guard that sneered Viola not an hour prior. 

"You will wait here," she demanded of the guard, her icy tone leaving no question about her feelings toward the man, "Unless you want to face the Jarl's fury when he finds out you disobeyed me." His face paled at the threat, even though she felt like the Jarl's fury would most likely be directed at her for leaving the palace. But it seemed to work because he gave a curt nod. 

With that settled and no keys to the house, she released a shout from her throat. It was softer than most, a harsh whisper that transformed her body from physical to ethereal and allowed her to walk through the front door and ignore the fuss of a lock. The sight she was met with was even more horrific than that of the graveyard. The long table, that would normally be for dining, was covered by a bed of crushed ice wraiths keeping cold the wildly assembled parts of different women. Her stomach rolled from the smell of dead flesh in the dimly lit room. She clasped a hand over her mouth and nose to stave off the aroma as she made her way over to the table. Necromantic runes were scribbled on the table but her eyes zeroed in on the thick journal sitting beside a half rotted head. She swallowed thickly, grabbing the journal and opened it, her eyes quickly scanning the contents and discovering the mad truth of the necromancer's intentions to summon his dead sister's soul and use magic to bind it to the assembled body on the table. 

A quiet thumping immediately gained her attention and she followed the sound til it led her to the hallway. She was briefly awash with confusion of the sounds whereabouts until she remembered a certain paranoid Breton having a secret room beneath her inn only accessible by a trap door behind a bookshelf. Slowly and being alert at whatever was awaiting her beyond the door, she slid the bookshelf out of the way and frowned at the sight of the secret door in front of her. She was right. With the thumping still sounding, she took a deep breath and shouted again, an Unrelenting Force that knocked the shabby hidden door off it's hinges, shattering it into pieces that forced the offender backwards against the wall of the small room. He slowly sank to the floor, a smear of red pasted onto the wall behind him following him down to the floorboards. 

It was an Imperial man and he was dying, his stomach cut up good from whatever weapon Susanna used against him. His hands hovered near his stomach where the blood poured freely from the deep wounds there. His eyes rose to her, taking in her appearance only to widen when he realized who was standing at the threshold. "I'm already dying.. leave me," he whispered hoarsely, his tone heavy with defeat and she shook her head. 

"No. Not yet you're not," she told him before her hands came alight in a soft, healing glow. 

The guards gave her nervous glances as she marched dutifully to the war room while the offending guard pulled the tied up prisoner behind them. She knew the price for leaving the castle would be a steep one and accepted her fate as she pushed the large door open and entered the room full of men unannounced. All eyes were on her and she could feel Ulfric's icy blue ones boring into her as she dropped the bloody journal on top of the map in the center of the room. Jorleif came stumbling in after her, face flushed and breathless from his quickened steps, "I'm so sorry my, lord. I tried to reason with her." 

Ignoring that conversation, she turned to face the half-healed prisoner. "On your knees," she demanded, to which he did nothing. With a harsh glare in her eyes she sent a volt of electricity from her palm directly into his legs, causing him to crumple to the floor with a scream of pain, his bound hands clutching at his still bleeding stomach. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she then turned back to the men lining the table. 

"The Butcher," she said, waving one of her small hands toward the man for emphasis. A sneer overtook her face and she grabbed a fistful of the black curls coiled on top of his hair, forcing him to meet their eyes with a sharp yank. "The killer of your women. Of your mothers, your daughters, your sisters and your wives," she spat venomously, before releasing his hair to allow his head to fall forward. 

"How did you find him?" Ulfric asked, though she did not meet his eyes. She would not, for he did not deserve her gaze. 

Instead, she turned her attention toward the guard that dragged the murderer in ropes to the palace. Only half his face was visible through the cutout of his helmet, but it was enough to see clearly the nervousness on his face. "Remove your helmet," she said, her small voice full of authority and reluctantly, he did as told, holding it in front of him and clasped in both hands. "Tell him. Tell your Jarl." 

"Well.." he started, swallowing hard as he looked at Ulfric, "He killed another this morning, Susanna. Candlehearth's bar maid. There was a trail of blood and.. we didn't see it-"

"Didn't see it? Or you didn't want to?" she interrupted and a look of shame overtook his features, his eyes dropping to the floor. She turned back to the men at the table, so obsessed with their wars that they'd forsaken their own people. Her upper lip curled tightly in disdain as she focused her glare at Galmar who was wearing the most blank expression she'd ever seen from him. "Turning your backs on your own people is unacceptable. You can not wage war on our elven oppressors while allowing your own people to be oppressed. Do better," she spat before sweeping out of the room, leaving the oh so capable men to deal with the rest of it. 

Arielle wandered the halls for an unknown amount of time, mostly exploring the rest of the castle's first floor in her attempt to avoid the other occupants. She knew it was well after dinnertime when she happened upon the shrine of Talos at the heart of the castle. It was empty, but heavily travelled she assumed by all the candles that were lit around the large statue. Empty benches lined either side of the aisle towards the statue and she passed them all, opting instead to kneel before the stone sculpture of the man who ascended to god-hood. 

A wave of shame washed over her at the memory of what transpired only a few hours ago. Frowning deeply, she pulled her father's amulet over her head and held it in her palms as she sat on her legs. He'd been so vocal about supporting Ulfric's choice to distance Skyrim from the Empire but she knew, if he were still in the land of the living, his opinion of the man would have drastically changed. She was so wracked with guilt over the consequences of her choices that tears stung her eyes once more.

"I'm so sorry, da," she sniffled, hastily brushing her tears from her cheeks, the salt stinging the cut on her lip as she did. And she could remember, when she ventured to Sovngarde, her father was there. So close and all she wanted to do was run into his arms and be safe again but she couldn't. Tsun would not allow it because it was not her time. It was cruel, to see but not speak or hold her loved one. Even after she slain the great beast that threatened the souls of man, even after everything she knew had been ripped away from her, after all of her sacrifices, the gods would not grant her the one kindness.

"I can hear you," she said out loud, hoping her words would carry across the realm. "Your lectures echo in my mind even now," her frown deepened, "But you never prepared me for this." Once more her fingers brushed her tears away, only to be replaced by more as she looked at the amulet in her palm. She felt so lost without his guidance. He.. he would never allow this wedding to happen. He would have stopped it, fixed everything like he always did. He never would have let her accept this deal in the first place. He'd rather her fight in the war than marry a man that would hurt her.

He'd rather her fight like he did. 

She got to her feet and replaced the amulet around her neck. Drawing a deep breath, she turned on her heel and made her way back down the aisle to the door of the shrine. A deep frown came to her face when she entered the hallway only to be met with a chest of steel and wool and fur. With a tight jaw, her eyes reluctantly rose to the icy blue ones she was now painfully familiar with. They roamed her face before zeroing in on the lip she had yet to heal. She would not heal it. He didn't deserve that. To have his mistake wiped away so easily. No, she would not heal it. In fact, she hoped it scarred. A constant reminder to what he'd done to her face. A reminder she would wear with venomous pride.

"Call off the wedding," she said firmly, only for the Jarl's eyes to flash to hers, narrowing into a harsh glare. "And I'll join your army." She would fight, just like her father would want her to.

His jaw went tight as he took in her words. "We had a deal," he said, with no small amount of irritation in his tone. 

"And now I'm offering you a better one," she said urgently, hoping he would see reason. Neither of them wanted this marriage to happen and her fighting for him would help secure his win. "Call off the wedding and I'll fight. I'll summon Ohdaviing again and ride him into battle against the Imperials." 

"So you can go back to your lover?" he sneered, causing her own eyes to narrow at him. He really was a bastard if she'd ever met one. "No," he said with a snap, "Tomorrow we will be wed as intended." 

He was already walking away when a broken expression crossed her face. This was.. her defeat. Her last shred of hope in the world, put to the sword by a monster of a man she would soon call husband. Her feet moved mechanically, like dwarven machines she had no control over as they carried her back to her room while she retreated further into her mind. Her lungs felt constricted in her chest, her skin crawled with the fearful anticipation of the next day to come. 

And when she got back to her room, she was greeted by a circlet of silver sitting on her bed. Mocking her misery and she knew.. she would not sleep this night.


	7. The Wedding

Arielle was soaking in a bath and staring dejectedly at the flowers floating in the water that would lend their scent to her skin as she slowly came to grips with what was happening. It was here, the day she'd been dreading more and more each day since she returned from Sovngarde, successful in her quest to defeat the World Eater. Her wedding day. A sharp pain twisted in her heart at the thought of it. After all, this was far from the wedding day she imagined as a young girl. 

Lydia said something that she didn't catch, only knew she had spoken by the sound of her voice cutting through the quietness of the room. Her strong voice a stark contrast to the soft crackling of the burning fire in the fireplace. "What?" she asked, turning her head to the right to see the woman sitting in one of the chairs at her small table. 

"I said you should eat something," Lydia said before bringing a piece of bread smeared with soft cheese to her mouth. It looked good but Arielle was far to nervous for the day-and night- to come. Anxious flutters in her stomach had her questioning her ability to hold any amount of food down. 

"I don't know if I can," she admitted, eyeing the platter of food. Her eyes certainly wanted to eat, they raked greedily over the spread on the table. Fresh fruit, soft cheese, warm bread and wine crowded a large silver platter. She watched the Nord stand from her chair and grab the bath board that was leaning against the wall by the door. 

"Well, let's try anyway," Lydia said, taking the few steps to the tub and laying the board across the top of the tub in front of her. The water was still hot, reheated a few times by her spell instead of the hot rocks Rona wanted to use. That woman was all too excited to help Arielle prepare to be wedded and was currently sitting in the only other chair at the small table, trimming stems off blue and white flowers that would soon decorate her hair. 

Lydia placed a bit of everything on the bath board before she resumed her place at the table. The first thing Arielle grabbed was the goblet of wine, quickly bringing it to her lips to taste. It was floral and tart on her tongue, causing her lips to pucker as she swallowed. "Is this made of snowberries?" she asked. 

"It is," Lydia replied, the corner of her mouth twisting up in a smile, "Strong too, not that it matters. You'll be drunk on bridal ale before the night is through but I thought you wouldn't mind an early start," she explained, her words causing the corner of Arielle's mouth to turn up. Once again she was thankful for her companion staying at her side. She really had come to depend on Lydia in all their time spent together, the woman was the only constant in her life anymore and an irreplaceable one at that. 

"To an early start," she said, raising her goblet toward the Nord who immediately mirrored the sentiment with her own cup. With strong wine beginning to warm her belly, she turned her attention to the food in front of her and when she was done, she'd cleared the bath board of the offered items. Soon after, her goblet was refilled and she leaned back against the tub, allowing her hair to hang over the side behind her to dry by the warmth of the fireplace while she continued to soak. Rona insisted that she soak in the hot water til she perspired, something about purifying and stripping away her former self. And Arielle couldn't help but wonder, with everything that happened to her in the past few years, how much of her true self would be left at the end of it all. Would her true self enter Sovngarde, or would she be completely gone, replaced by something else, something foreign?

When she was finally allowed to leave the bath, her fingers and toes were completely pruned. Still just as uncomfortable being bare in front of a stranger, her small hands covered her chest while she reluctantly let Rona help her into the wedding dress. The woman had brought the chair she was using at the table over to the dresser so Arielle could sit while she had her hair braided. The sight of herself in the dress was enough to have her pulse racing through her veins. There was no more ignoring what was happening and she took slow, deliberate breaths to steady her nerves. 

"You should heal that," Lydia said and she met the brunette's eyes, the look she was giving her leaving no question about what she was talking about. 

Arielle frowned. "He doesn't deserve that," she said plainly, earning a sympathetic look from the woman. 

"No, but you do. I know you don't want all those people to see you like that." 

She looked back at herself in the mirror while Lydia's words echoed in her mind. The swelling was long gone but a thin split still ran down the left side of her bottom lip and she realized Lydia was right. Damn near the whole population of Windhelm was set to crowd the main hall to witness their vows and leaving the cut on her lip would only serve to further humiliate her. With a sigh, she raised a hand to her lips, enveloping them in a soft healing glow from her palm and when she pulled her hand away, there was no trace left of the wound and no hint of a scar. 

Aside from Ulfric not calling off the wedding, she was still waiting for him to punish her for leaving the palace and interrupting his meeting. She was so sure her transgressions would not go without penalty that it, along with her nervous stomach, kept her from sleep most of the night. But he hadn't mentioned it outside of the shrine and she had not seen him since. Which was, concerning to say the least.

There was no denying that Rona had done a beautiful job with her hair when it was finally finished. The top of her hair was pulled back into thick rows of braids, decorated by the silver circlet and all of the white and blue flowers the woman had spent so much time trimming. The bottom of her hair was left down, her soft blonde curls hanging freely to her waist. And when Rona carefully fastened the white fur cloak over her shoulders, the look was complete. The weight of the fur on her shoulders almost symbolic of the heavy consequences of her actions she would now carry til the end of her days. Despite how lovely her hair looked, an impassive expression was all she could muster for it. 

When she was halfway through her third goblet of wine, Jorleif knocked on the door to her room. Once given the all clear, he poked his head in just far enough to let them know it was time. The announcement causing her pulse to race through her veins and her hands to perspire. "Oh gods," she whispered, mostly to herself while her chest quickened it's rising and falling to match her now erratic breathing. A warm Nordic hand was clasped over her own and she gripped it tightly, with everything she had in her to do so while Lydia helped her stand. 

"It's only one day," she said quietly while they walked the stone halls, each step taking her closer and closer to the rest of her life, "One day out of thousands of your life. You can do this." 

She wasn't convinced, far from it. But still, she clung to Lydia's words as if they were the very air she needed to breathe, repeating them over and over in her mind. And when they reached the end of their journey, only a thick curtain separated the hall from the throne room and she could hear them, the citizens of Windhelm. All too enthusiastic and eager to bear witness to the union of the Jarl and the Dragonborn. Morbid curiosity got the better of her and she peeked around the curtain, her eyes going wide at the amount of people that were crowded in the massive throne room. "Oh gods, I shouldn't have looked," she said to herself while trying to mentally process the sight on the other side of the curtain, "I didn't even know Windhelm had so many citizens." Lydia snorted a laugh beside her. 

"We're giving them something to hope for," Ulfric said, the sound of his voice suddenly erupting from so close by startling her. He stood at her right and her eyes slowly drifted away from Lydia at her left til she was craning her neck to meet his icy blue eyes with her own wide, almost fearful ones. He looked.. different. Though, she should have expected that. His hair was freshly braided away from his face but still decorated by silver cuffs throughout. His facial hair had been neatly trimmed and part of her mind registered that it was the first time she'd ever seen him without armour. Not that it made much of a difference, he was still just as huge without it. Firm steel had been replaced by Stormcloak-blue linen and wool to match her blue dress. And just like hers, a thick cloak of white bear fur donned his shoulders. The only exception being that his had the large claws still intact, draped casually over his shoulders. 

"Your beauty is unparalleled," he said in that deep, masculine voice of his while his eyes roamed her face before migrating to her hair and finally down to her dress. Not able to think of any response to that while her mind was too-well occupied by the nervous fluttering in her stomach, she tore her eyes away from the Jarl to land on the thick linen curtains in front of them. On the other side, she could hear the priest begin to shush the crowd and a tingling erupted in her hands for it, alerting her to just how tightly they were clasped in front of herself. A deep breath invaded her lungs and she forced her hands to separate so she might wipe the dampness of her palms on the skirt of her dress. A movement on the corner of her vision caught her attention and her eyes landed on the Jarl's offered arm. Soft footsteps fastly approached, the sound clearly audible in the now quiet throne room. She took his arm, her fingers automatically clutching at the thick linen shirt covering his forearm, her knuckles going white from the tightness of her nervous grip. 

A large hand encompassed hers as the footsteps grew closer, unwinding her fingers from the fabric so they laid flat against the sleeve of his shirt. "Breathe," he said, almost too calmly and letting his hand fall away from hers and she obeyed, sucking in deeply as the footsteps came to a stop on the other side of the curtains. 

The curtains were pulled away and the quick glance she'd taken moments ago had not done the throne room it's justice. Thick banners of Stormcloak-blue and white decorated the pillars, strands of garland draped over nearly every surface. Hundreds of candles lit the room, adding a soft glow to the mid-day light pouring in from the stained glass windows, creating an incredible sight that both dazzled and dizzied her. More faces than she'd seen at at any one time in her life eagerly looked on as Ulfric escorted her to the altar. Her legs moved, surprisingly well for all of her nervousness and she thanked whichever god had granted her that mercy. 

The priest was waiting, donned in golden robes and looking all too eager to wed them. "Let us begin the ceremony!" he announced when they came to a stop at the small table in front him. Ulfric turned to face her and took both of her hands into his own. The room was quiet. So quiet in face that she could hear her own heartbeat when her eyes strayed to the small silk pillow housing two rings, one for Ulfric and one for her. The amount of people watching did nothing to ease her nerves and she decided that, the Jarl's eyes was a much safer place to rest her gaze than the large sapphire and diamond ring that was sure to weigh down her hand. 

The priest began..

"We gather here today, on this most special day and under the gaze of the Nine Divines, to bear witness to the union of these two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship. May they honor each other above all others and may their laughter fill these walls until Sovngarde calls. Do you agree to be bound together, now and forever?" 

"I do," Ulfric said, his gaze unwavering, "Now and forever." 

She could feel it, the gaze of everyone packed inside the throne room. Every man woman and child waiting for her response and she couldn't help but think how quickly it all happened. Ulfric hadn't hesitated for a second, his vow rang clear and absolute and now.. it was her turn. "I do. Now and forever," she said, thanking the gods that her voice was steady despite the tightness she felt in her chest.

"And now the exchange of swords," said the priest. She hadn't been prepared for this traditional of a wedding. After all, her parents were wed with a simple ceremony, an exchange of vows and nothing more. Ulfric immediately presented her with the sword from his belt, an ancient thing of solid steel. 

"My father's sword," he explained, "May you keep it safe til our first son is old enough to wield it." 

Her heart hammered away in her chest, pounding against her ribcage erratically as she took the sword into one of her small hands. Her free hand found it's way behind her neck where she unclasped the only sword she had left of her father's, his amulet of Talos. "The sword my father kept close to his heart," she explained, when he shot her a mixed expression she couldn't quite decipher. He surprised her however, when he bent forward to allow her to clasp it around his neck. 

"Under the authority of Mara," the priest said, earning their attention once more, "the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. I present to the two of you with your rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together." 

Her eyes strayed from Ulfric's to the silk pillow now clasped in the priest's hands. Ulfric's fingers immediately closed around hers and he took her hand that would have been trembling if it were not for his firm grip. She'd been right in her thinking it would be heavy. The ring was an oval sapphire surrounded by a ring of tiny diamonds set in a silver band. It was reminiscent of her circlet and she wondered if it had been his mother's ring. She mirrored his motions, taking the silver band from the pillow. Upon the quick glance she gave it, she noticed it was thicker than hers and carved with Nordic symbols. She took his hand, so much larger than her own and slid the thick band into place on his fourth digit. 

"And now," the priest said and she could hear the excitement in his tone, "A kiss to seal this union." 

And oh gods, she forgot about the kiss. The harsh reminder had her eyes going wide and she was in his arms before her mind had even registered him pulling her toward him. Her small hands landed on his broad chest, covered by thick linens and fur while one of his large arms held her against him in a vice grip. An unbreakable cage she could not escape from. His free hand found it's way to the back of her head, cradling it with something akin to gentleness. He hesitated, only long enough to observe her wide eyes and quickened breaths before bringing his lips down against hers. 

It was.. not what she was expecting. The Jarl was a hard man but his lips, lips she expected to be as rough as he was, were surprisingly smooth as they moved against hers. Excited cheers erupted, echoing around the massive room though they did nothing to stop the slow and deliberate movements of his lips against hers. In her best attempt to think of anything but the overwhelming sensation of a man she didn't like, kissing her in a way that was not entirely something she hated, she registered the tickling of his facial hairs against her delicate skin. 

And then it was over, and her eyes were still just as wide from the surprise of it all when they turned to face the still cheering citizens. As she gazed at the crowd, smiling faces of man and dunmer alike, soldier and citizen, Ulfric's words echoed in her mind. The truth of them was clear as the light of day, there was hope in their eyes. And it suddenly struck her, that while this marriage was not something she wanted, it might be exactly what the people need. 

And then she was in his arms again, only this time her feet left the ground and she was forced to grab onto him for stability. Which, wasn't easy considering how tightly she'd been clutching the steel sword against her chest. "What are you doing?" she demanded, the alarm clear in her tone and he exhaled a laugh as he carried her out of the throne room that was still deafeningly loud. 

"Assisting you," he said casually, "Can't have my wife tripping on a threshold." 

His words rang in her mind like the loudest of war horns. Really just one of his words; wife. She was his wife now. And that realization had her feeling as though she were once again standing at the throat of the world, icy air causing gooseflesh on her skin. Instead this time, it was a pair of glacier colored eyes that had her chilled to the core. They were married. The past few days seemed a blur, it all happened so fast and she hadn't had a moment's reprieve, a moment to contemplate and collect herself before the next thing happened. And she hoped beyond hope, that the gods would grant her such a respite soon. For she didn't know how much more her nerves could take. 

Lydia and Galmar were on their heels as Ulfric effortlessly carried her through the hall towards the massive dining room where they, along with the most notable citizens of Windhelm would congregate to feast. He carried her, well past the threshold and to their table before she was placed in her chair. And she couldn't help but wonder, if that was part of the tradition, or if he was just demonstrating the control he now had over her. She sat at his right, with Lydia and Galmar on either side of them as their housecarls. Their table faced the rest and she watched as the more well off citizens filed in to take their seats while a trio of bards played a joyful, lyric-less tune. Ulfric's officers had their own table and she kept her eyes firmly away from it, Ulfric's warning for Ralof's safety still ringing in her mind. 

When everyone had taken their seats, the priest reappeared and clasped in his hands was another silk pillow, a bigger one than the first and resting upon it was a large hammer. Stendarr's hammer, the priest explained when Ulfric wielded it briefly before placing it in her lap to bless her reproductive organs. And just like that, her throat ran dry and her lungs felt even tighter, if that were somehow possible. She'd been doing well thus far, not thinking about the night to come. But all of that ended when the heavy weight of the hammer was placed in her lap, a prelude to what would soon be between her legs.

The priest earned her attention when he placed a single cup in front of them on the table, filling it with the bridal ale they would share. Once more, he called on the goddess Mara to bless their consummations before they both drank from the cup. She drank deeply, the ale tasting almost thick with the amount of honey that had been brewed into it. It was incredibly sweet but also very strong and she immediately made to refill the cup while the feast began.

"You drink like a Nord," Ulfric commented, with no small amount of amusement in his tone after another one of their 'guests' paid their table a visit to congratulate them on their nuptials. She didn't respond, she couldn't. Her mind was all too occupied by the passing of time, each second, each minute bringing her close and closer to what she knew was going to happen. It was unavoidable and she dreaded it. Instead, she picked at the food in front of her, trying to eat what she could despite her nervous stomach. 

When the feast finally ended and no sooner had the hammer been removed from her lap and she stood, she was in Ulfric's arms again. The movement causing the room around her to blur from the effects of the alcohol she'd drunk. The room erupted into a chorus of drunken cheers and applause as Ulfric carried her out of the feasting hall. Galmar and Lydia followed close behind and she was awash with confusion at the sight of a few of his officers following behind them. She turned her head forward as Ulfric took them down a different path than the one she was used to and the realization that he was taking them to his room hit her like a sack of cabbages. 

To say Ulfric's room was impressive, would be an understatement. It was nearly three times the size of hers with a large closet and dresser against the right wall beside a fireplace that burned brightly offering warmth to the large room. The left, housed a large table beside the window that was scattered with a mountain of parchments and books she couldn't possibly read from her dizzy state. In the center and perched upon a large dais, sat his massive four post bed. It was draped on either side with a cloth of lace and the blankets were folded back, tucked at the foot of the bed, leaving only the sheet covering the mattress. No hard surface was spared of candle-light, enveloping the room in a soft orange glow that should have been calming but only made Arielle want to panic. 

Her nails were digging into his shoulders when he laid her down on the bed, which was softer than she'd been expecting and she immediately sat up, eyes wide with alarm at the sight of the others filing in. "What are they doing?" she asked, not bothering to try to mask the hysteria creeping into her tone. Ulfric had retreated far enough back to begin the process of undressing. 

"Witnessing," he said calmly, too calm for the words he spoke.

"Witnessing?" she repeated with a question, "Witnessing what?!" 

"Our consummation," he said plainly, looking thoroughly unimpressed by her outburst. 

"No they're not," she told him firmly with a shake of her head. It was bad enough she had to sleep with him, now he wanted people to see it? 

"The last thing we need is for someone to question the validity of our marriage," he told her firmly, the tone of his already deep voice implying that there would be no room for discussion. Just like everything else he did, he would act how he saw fit and her thoughts and feelings didn't matter. She didn't matter. "There will be witnesses," he reiterated, working on the clasp of his trousers and her eyes screwed shut as she resigned herself to her fate. 

The effect of squeezing her eyes closed was dizzying from the alcohol she'd consumed. It felt like the mattress was tilting and tipping and her fingers dug into the sheet, gripping the fabric as tightly as she could. And when she felt the dip in the mattress from Ulfric's weight as he joined her, she squeezed her eyes tighter still. He scoffed, she assumed at her actions but it did not deter him and she soon felt the weight of the circlet leave her head. At the ties of her cloak being pulled apart, her breathing hitched, her chest rapidly rising and falling while her mind struggled to cope with what was happening, what she could not stop from happening. She chose this, she reminded herself as his warm hands rid the dress from her shoulders.

Her hands abandoned the sheet in favor of covering her chest when her arms were free of the garment's sleeves. She laid back down and he pulled the dress down further, freeing her small waist and shapely hips before she felt the soft fabric quickly pulled down her legs in a display of what she could only assume was his own eagerness. Her assumption was confirmed when he she felt him return to hover over her, his large hands grabbing each of her wrists in a vice grip. He pinned them to her sides and though her eyes were still tightly closed, she could still hear his heavy breathing above her and felt it hit her skin leaving gooseflesh across her chest in it's wake. "Dibella, you're beautiful," he breathed, warmly against her face and she turned her face to the side only for him to scoff again.

Without further hesitation, his knees dipped between hers, spreading them apart while one of his hands left her wrist to position himself. A gasp escaped her when she felt it, at the threshold of her entrance. His manhood, and she did not look because she knew she could not handle that but she could feel how large it was. Reminiscent of the hammer she held in her lap only a short while ago and genuine fear ran up her spine at the thought of it inside her. An experimental push against her delicate flesh yielded no result and she could hear his irritated exhale so close to her ear. "God's damn it woman," he grumbled in that low voice of his. She heard him spit and a crease of confusion appeared in her brow but she understood a moment later when his now slickened manhood returned to the apex of her thighs and he didn't hesitate. He entered her, hilting himself completely with one strong thrust. 

Her eyes shot open, going wide as her scream of agony bounced off the stone walls, echoing harshly around them as the last shred of innocence she had left was ripped away from her. Tears stung her eyes, immediately trailing across her skin and into her hair, her body trembling beneath his own suddenly stilled one. Her free hand went to his broad chest, holding the shirt he was still wearing for some reason in a tight grip while she sobbed beneath him. The pain was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before in her life and she genuinely wondered if she was being ripped apart. 

"You're a maiden?" Ulfric asked, the surprise in his tone nearly palpable and she continued to cry. 

"Gods, please, take it out," she begged between her sobs and though her eyes were blurry from her many tears she registered the almost sympathetic look on his face and in his eyes. 

"You know I can not stop," he said and she sobbed harder as he pulled himself out only to enter her again. He set a slow pace, each thrust, each slide of his manhood between her abused folds causing more and more pain to erupt in her nethers and she cried harder for it. 

He ignored her pleas for him to stop, instead continuing to move his skin against hers, holding her small body in a tight grip despite her futile attempts to move away from his agonizing thrusts. And her free hand pressing against his chest did nothing to deter him from his goal. She didn't know how long it went on for. Each searing thrust, every painful second blurred into the next until finally, he stilled inside her and she felt it, his warm release painting her aching insides accompanied by a deep groan above her that sounded more beast than man. Seconds passed, his heavy breaths hitting her chest rhythmically before finally, he pulled himself from her. 

"Get out," he growled and she could just barely hear the retreating footsteps over the sobs that still wracked her body. He released his hold on her and she immediately rolled onto her side, sobbing harder and clutching at the pillow beneath her head. His weight left the bed, only to return a moment later and she felt the soft fur of a blanket caress her skin. Soon after, his arm came around her, caging her back to his warm chest. Though it offered her no measure of comfort and she continued to cry in his arms, until she couldn't and having exhausted herself both mentally and physically, she fell into a restless sleep.


	8. Passive

Arielle was sitting on the bed, a despondent look on her face while she half listened to the midwife drone on endlessly about the different herbs she was adding to the bath Rona had just poured. The woman had just gotten done examining her, and she was just so sick of being naked in front of people. More people than she ever thought she would be. Her small hands hugged the fur blanket closer around herself while she waited for the ok to soak her still tender flesh in the hot water.

Her eyes, that until now had been focused on a stray piece of yarn that was unraveling the corner of the rug beside the steps to the bed, strayed to land on the jar of troll fat that now sat on the small bedside table. Prescribed by the midwife herself and a frown came to her face at the sight of it. She didn't know which thought disgusted her more, using troll fat to have sex again or just simply having sex again. A mixture of both she quickly decided, tearing her eyes away from the goopy yellow substance in the glass jar. The midwife earned her attention when she finished preparing the bath water and approached Arielle to help her into it. 

She accepted the woman's help wordlessly and winced immediately upon standing, her flesh screaming it's protest from the movement of her legs. It was even worse when she walked down the few steps of the dais and she couldn't help but wonder who's stupid idea it was to put steps leading to a bed. Though her effort was rewarded when she dropped the fur blanket and sank into the hot water, the steaming water immediately heating her abused nether and she released a shaky breath for it. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her thin arms around her legs and let her gaze fall to the herbs floating on the water's surface in front of her. Despite not hearing much of what the woman had said thus far, her experience with alchemy helped her identify a few of the herbs. Lavender, sage, pine needles and juniper berries all floated around her, like a sangria for her muscles. She could also see the shimmer of an oil, swirling across the surface but she hadn't been listening enough to catch what that was made from.

"Am I with child?" she asked, speaking for the first time, her voice hoarse from the crying she'd done the night before. It was well into the night by the time her sobs finally died down and her tears ran dry and she was still more than exhausted for it. Unfortunately, it was rather early when the midwife showed up, waking her up to examine her and Rona was right there behind her, bringing her things from her guest room to the one she would now share with the Jarl. That development had surprised her the most, she thought for sure they would have continued to sleep in separate rooms. But apparently not, because all of her belongings were now tucked away in their proper place, right beside his. 

"It's far too early to tell," the midwife said, placing a bathboard across the top of the tub, "There's a chance, but it may take a few times before you conceive." Her face was set in a deep frown by the time the midwife had finished talking. She was hoping once would be enough, the last thing she wanted to do was experience that again. Her mother told her that the first time would be painful, but she never expected it would be like that and in front of witnesses. It was beyond humiliating and if she had any tears left in her body, they would surely fall at the memory of it all. 

Her eyes followed the midwife as she placed a thick mug on the bathboard and filled it with the steaming tea she'd brewed in a small kettle by the fireplace. Little white blossoms tumbled out of the kettle's spout, landing in her mug along with several other herbs she couldn't identify. "Drink this. It will help you relax," she said and Arielle obeyed wordlessly, bringing the mug to her lips. She blew a few cool breaths across the top of the still steaming tea before taking an experimental taste. It was heavily flavored by the blossoms, tasting as if she were chewing a mouthful of mountain flowers, but it was also sweetened with honey, making it slightly more palatable. The midwife packed up her things soon after, leaving a small satchel of the herbs on her dresser for Rona to brew more tea as she needed it. 

As the midwife left, Arielle settled back against the tub, sipping her piping hot tea while ignoring the sound of Rona changing the bedsheet behind her. She'd seen it, when she woke, the stain of her maiden blood on the white sheet. It made her nauseous to look at so she'd done her best to ignore it's existence along with nearly everything that was said to her, opting instead to adopt a blank state of mind. Like a retreat inside her mind where there was nothing, no Jarls to hurt her, no maids to pester her and no midwives examining her sore flesh. Just herself and the calmness of a thoughtless mind. 

The next thing that caught her attention was the soft click of the door as Rona finally took her leave and with her tea now finished, Arielle set the empty mug on the bath board before wrapping her arms around her legs once more and allowing her eyes to close. The water was a blessing to her sore flesh and with what little strength she had, she reheated it to near steaming with a spell. She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the soothing bath, deep inside her mind and very near dozing off due to the effects of the tea. But it ended when the sound of heavy steel boots entering the room pulled her back to herself and not knowing whether it was Lydia or Ulfric, her body tensed at the sound. She had yet to see Lydia, though she knew from experience the woman would have announced herself. Her sleepy eyes opened, though she kept them trained on the bath board and empty mug in front of her while the sound continued behind her. After a long moment, she heard them approach before blue linen and black fur appeared in the corner of her eye. 

She startled, nearly abandoning her skin in the process when the warm touch of a wash towel grazed her shoulder and slid down her arm into the water. Water sloshed in the tub from her jerky movement and her breathing hitched for it. Undeterred by her reaction, the wash towel returned to her shoulder before moving across the now trembling skin of her back. Her eyes were open wide, though they dared not to stray from the empty mug in front of her when the wet lengths of her hair were moved to the side for the dripping cloth to return to her skin. Her mind raced to play catch up to the newest development that was occurring between them. "I will honor you," he said, his deep voice breaking the silence between them, "As promised." 

Unsure of how to respond, or even if she should, she opted to say nothing while he continued to move the towel across her skin in silence. Moments passed and the towel was discarded, laid over the side of the tub and she heard his heavy footsteps retreating. Soon they returned and a large hand wrapped around one of her thin wrists, she took the hint and he helped her stand, bracing his free hand on her small waist as she left the water. Her hands immediately covered her chest, though it seemed it wasn't necessary because she was quickly enveloped by the warmth of a heated towel. He pulled her toward him and she was forced to hold onto him as she stepped from the tub. And for all her time spent in the steaming water, she still felt the aching between her legs. "Now," he said while rubbing the towel across her skin to dry it, "let's get you to bed." 

Her eyes, already wide from surprise, widened further as fear shot down her spine at the thought of him wanting her again so soon. While she still hurt. While she still bled. A choked sob escaped her and tears stung stung her eyes which she immediately screwed shut. "To rest, woman. By the gods, I'm not a rapist," he said with a snap, not at all bothering to mask the irritation in his low voice. 

A deep breath invaded her lungs as she fought to get ahold of herself. She'd never felt so vulnerable and it showed by the severe lack of control she had over her emotions and reactions. After a rather shaky exhale he picked her up, towel and all and took her back to bed. Her hands clutched at the fur draped over his shoulders and part of her mind registered the ice cold steel of his chest plate where it touched the parts of her bare flesh that were exposed. Seconds later she was sitting on their bed, her mind still racing to process everything that was happening while he draped the thick fur blanket across her lap. Her hands gripped the towel still wrapped around her in tight fists while she watched him sit in front of her on the edge of the bed. 

"It's traditional to give the bride a gift, the morning after," he said and she watched him reach for a flat, square wooden box that was sitting on the bedside table beside the jar of troll fat. It was reminiscent of the box formerly housing her circlet but she was sure she hadn't seen it sitting on the small table earlier. "I thought, a neck as beautiful as yours should not go without decoration," he said while unclasping the latch of the box. He opened the lid, revealing a large, jeweled amulet. It was circular and she immediately recognized the Stormcloak-bear engraved into the silver. A tiny sapphire was embedded into the silver for it's eye and a ring of diamonds bordered the engraving. The entire thing hung from a thick silver cord and one of her first thoughts about it was just how heavy it looked. 

Without wasting any more time, he removed the amulet from it's home in the box, setting the now empty container to the side before leaning closer to clasp it around her neck. When his hands left her skin she realized she was right about the weight of it. The large amulet rest just below her collarbones and one of her hands lifted it to look at it up close. It was, about as feminine as it could possibly be considering it was a bear. Her thumb ran across the textured engraving a few times before she finally spoke. "Was it your mother's, like the rest?" she asked him, finding her voice out of curiosity. 

"Only the circlet belonged to my mother," he said and her eyes strayed to the large ring on her left hand. "Both of those were made for you." Once more, she didn't know how to respond to his words so she didn't, her eyes going back to the amulet. "The war keeps me busy most days but I do try to attend court Morndas and Tirdas. I'm sure the people would love to see you there but I wont force you to attend. For now, rest." 

Her eyes followed him as he stood, taking the few stairs away from the bed and leaving the room. The sound of his steel boots retreating down the hall carried for a moment, getting more and more quiet in volume until they disappeared completely and she allowed herself to lie down on the mattress. Her eyes gazed at the canopy of linen above her and she realized that the draping lace had been replaced with blue linen that hung down by each of the posts. Still exhausted from sleepless nights, her eyes closed of their own accord and it wasn't long til she slipped into a deep sleep. 

It was mid-afternoon when Lydia entered the room, bringing with her a tray of food and a bottle of wine as she did. Arielle was awake, had been for a little while with no inclination to move from the bed. Though she was relieved to discover upon waking from her lengthy nap that she felt leagues better than she had before. The tea and bath had done wonders for her aching flesh. She still felt it, but nowhere near as strong. Only a dull ache remained in her nethers to remind her of the night before. 

While food was the farthest thing on her mind in the morning, the sight of it on the tray had her suddenly ravenous. She sat up, holding the fur blanket tightly around herself as she did to allow more space for Lydia and her offerings. "Hope you're hungry cause I brought a lot," the woman said as she set the tray in front of her and she wasted no time picking at the offered foods while Lydia filled two mugs of wine. 

"Where've you been?" she asked around a mouthful of bread and soft cheese. 

At her silence, Arielle looked up and was met with a sight she'd never seen before. A light dusting of blush littered the woman's cheeks. "I may have had a pint too many last night," the brunette admitted without meeting her eyes, only confusing Arielle further.

"What does that mean?" she asked, holding her hand up to her mouth while she spoke around her food. She was already awash with relief at just having Lydia around. She didn't have to worry about being proper or which fork to use. There wasn't even a fork on the tray, only a knife to spread the cheese and jam. That realization would have had her cracking a smile if she were not so cast down from recent events. 

"Well.." she began wearing a look on her face that was something akin to embarrassment, "Last night.. Galmar and I.."

The knife Arielle was holding clattered loudly to the silver tray, a sharp sound that echoed around them. "Wait.. what?" she asked the woman that still had not looked at her since the start of the conversation. "I thought you hated each other?" she asked incredulously, holding her hands up and looking rather comical doing so since one of her hands was still occupied by her food. 

"I know," Lydia said with a visible cringe before she brought her mug to her lips and took a deep gulp of the burgundy liquid. "I mean, I do," she clarified after swallowing her wine. Arielle shot her a look conveying just how unconvinced she was but said nothing while Lydia took another drink from her mug. After all, the woman was clearly uncomfortable and Arielle had more than her fair share of things she'd rather not talk about. Instead, she brought her mug to her lips, taking an experimental taste of the wine, the flavor of juniper berries hitting her tongue as she swallowed. 

"I brought Iron Hearts," Lydia said, abandoning the previous conversation in favor of revealing a deck of cards. It had been a long time since she and Lydia had played. The last time was weeks before she faced the World Eater, before the negotiations at High Hrothgar to halt the war even. But some of her best memories over the past year had seen Lydia and Arielle in one of Skyrim's many inns sharing a bottle of wine and playing cards to pass the time. 

She smiled at the sight. It was halfhearted and only touched the corner of her mouth but it was a smile and her first one in how long? Lydia dealt the cards out while Arielle continued to stuff her face with the food, only realizing just how hungry she was once the tray had been cleared of it all. They played Iron Hearts for a few hours, their conversations steering clear of unpleasant topics and enjoyed each others company until the afternoon finally waned. 

Rona returned a few times, to stoke the fire and brew more of the herbal tea the midwife had left behind. It didn't take long for the blossom tea to kick in and when their last hand ended, Lydia took her leave. Arielle relaxed into the mattress, almost near dozing from the effects of the tea when she heard the door open again. She assumed it was Rona back to stoke the fire again until she heard the sound of steel boots hitting the rug covered stone floor. A feeling of dread built up inside her and that tightness returned to her chest, constricting her lungs and while she was feeling better she couldn't imagine going through the same thing again while the memory was still fresh. But, just like the night before, he would do what he wanted to and she could not stop him because she agreed to it. 

She sat up, frown firmly set on her face as she watched him place his cloak and chestplate on one of the chairs at the table. His steel bracers and boots were quick to follow before he started toward the bed. With her pulse now racing in anticipation, her eyes went to the bedside table where the jar still sat, it's disgusting contents making her stomach do a flip but she reached for it anyway. Small hands clutched it to her chest in a tight grip and she kept her eyes off him while she waited for him to join her. The fabric of his trousers softly hit the floor and she watched from the corner of her eyes as he slid beneath the fur blanket, scooting closer before a linen covered arm pulled her down to the mattress and against his chest. "Goodnight wife," he said, his warm breath hitting her face while his words left her stunned and confused. 

A moment passed, the only audible sounds were the crackling of the fireplace and the warm exhale that landed on her neck every few seconds. Neither doing anything to ease her confusion and reluctantly, she turned her face to the Jarl's. Icy blue eyes were closed and his features were as relaxed as she'd ever seen them. She couldn't believe it, he was actually going to sleep without having her. She watched him for a few more moments to be sure, but his eyes remained closed and his face expressionless. She didn't remember closing her own eyes, only realized that they were and despite her confusion but thanks to the effects of the tea, it wasn't long until she fell asleep.


	9. Indifference Or Acceptance?

On Tirdas morning, she woke with a start. A loud clattering sound in the room yanked her out of her slumber and she sat up, eyes wide as she searched for the source of the disruption. She found it, not a second later when her eyes landed on a rather embarrassed looking Rona, still in the doorway, crouched over a spilled silver platter full of breakfast items on the floor and holding a hand against her knee as if she'd tripped, hitting it upon her entry. With a sigh, she rose from the bed, keeping the fur blanket around her as she did and made her way over to the closet.

She searched through the many dresses until she found one, a Stormcloak-blue dress made of thick velvet that she'd already worn once before. When Rona slipped out, presumably to fetch another tray she took the opportunity to dress herself in the now empty room. After pulling a pair of comfortable fur lined slippers over her feet, she made her way over to the rather fancy looking vanity table that had appeared the day before and began running her comb through her long hair in front of the mirror.

Impassive blue eyes stared back at her while she sat on the stool and combed through her blonde tresses while considering the past few days. Sundas was spent very much like Loredas, in her shared room with no inclination to leave. The humiliation she felt was still ripe in her mind and she had no desire to lock eyes with any of the officers that had bore witness to her deflowering. Thankfully, Lydia had informed her, most of them had joined Galmar for the assault on Whiterun. Though she knew, they would be back any day now. Word had already reached Windhelm of their success the day prior. The Stormcloak victory had been a swift one, taking control of the capitol before the sunset on Sundas and Arielle was grateful for that. It spared a lot of unnecessary bloodshed for the citizens, many of which she'd grown fond of in her time spent there.

The biggest surprise of the past few days had come from the Jarl. Each night, he joined her in bed without mention of having her again. She knew it would happen, sooner or later. It had to if she was to give him heirs but she would take every night it didn't without complaint, thankful he had at least some measure of restraint.

Rona returned, just a few short moments later with a fresh tray of food she set on the vanity before delving into the task of braiding the top of Arielle's hair. The sweetroll on the tray immediately caught her attention and she reached for it, completely ignoring the cutlery as she did. Steam erupted from the fresh pastry when she pulled it apart and she wasted no time bringing a piece of the sweet bun past her lips. Oh, it was good. Made even better by the dish of jam she dipped pieces of the pastry into. She much preferred taking her breakfast in her bedroom where she could eat how she pleased, without receiving the haughty looks of the steward. In fact, she would take all of her meals in her room if she thought she could get away with it.

When her breakfast was finished and her hair was neatly braided with the silver circlet resting atop her head, she reluctantly left her room, venturing downstairs to the court room for another long day of sitting. The majority of the day before was spent in the throne room, sitting on her pointless throne beside the Jarl's while citizens visited to ask favors of the Jarl. Most of them were either folks stopping by to congratulate them on their nuptials or to ask for an extension on their taxes. The new year was only a week away and with the war still in full swing, it had been a rough year for everyone. Surprisingly, the Jarl was rather fair with his citizens, granting extensions to those that needed it the most.

Another thing Arielle attended the day before, was the public execution of the 'Butcher'. The man's beheading was, not a pleasant sight but not exactly a foreign one either. It was a common method of punishment for the most heinous crime of murder in Skyrim. She only hoped it granted the victim's families some semblance of peace knowing that the killer had finally been stopped.

When she made her way to the throne room, the Jarl was already there, seated on his own throne. She quickly joined him, taking notice of the line of citizens stretched halfway to the doors and she knew it would be another long day spent sitting.

It was. More than a few times she caught herself spacing out before something would snap her out of it and bring her back to herself only to zone out again a few minutes later. And she was glad that she only had to attend court two days a week because she was not the Jarl, her presence wasn't needed. Though he was right in assuming that the people wanted to see her but she knew there was no way she could handle much more of this being still business. She liked to do things, work, use her hands. Whether it was fighting dragons or just playing a game of Iron Hearts with Lydia, she liked to occupy herself.

And poor Lydia, she knew the woman mirrored the sentiment. After all, it was the Nord that traipsed across Skyrim with her for over a year. Having to stay idle after all that time spent travelling is no easy potion to swallow. A glance spared at the woman seated a few feet away told her that her assumption was correct, she was bored too.

The sound of a pleading voice snapped her out of her latest daydream and her eyes wandered to find the source. They zeroed in on a rather pale man with sharp features. He was built like a Nord with a face resembling that of a Dunmer and shaggy black hair that overshadowed light blue eyes. An interesting mix indeed, but not a very shocking one since both Nords and Dunmer made up the majority of the city's population. He, like so many others, was asking for an extension on his taxes. Apparently the man runs one of the more prominent farms just outside the city and had fallen behind on his work due to an injured hand. She could see the thick wrappings on the man's hand and was out of her seat before she even realized what she was doing.

She crossed the space between them, taking note of the man's widening eyes as she approached him. "May I?" she asked, gesturing to his hand so she might get a closer look. Instead of answering her, his wide eyes went to the Jarl. She didn't look, but he must have given the okay because a moment late he nodded, raising his hand and she immediately started unwrapping the wound. When the final scrap of fabric was pulled away, she could see that the gash ran deep and clear across his palm. The man was definitely not lying about not being able to use it. "How did this happen?" she asked him while passing the used wrappings into his free hand.

"I was tilling the ground under one of my cold frames and got distracted," he explained as she held it close to her face, searching for any signs of infection. Thankfully, there were none so without wasting any more time, she closed her hands around his injured one, ignoring his wince of pain to focus on bringing her hands alive in the soft glow of a healing spell. It didn't take long, a moment or so before the wound was closed completely. She inspected it once more to be sure it was fully healed and it was, the wound was gone, the thin scar running across his palm the only evidence it had ever existed.

She watched his face shuffle through several emotions when he realized he'd been healed. His expression eventually settling on awe as he looked back at her with light blue eyes. "Dragonborn.. I.. don't know what to say. I can't thank you enough! I-"

She held up a hand to halt him from going any further. "Don't let it go unrewarded," she told him, "Knock on your neighbor's doors. Lend them a hand if they need it." He nodded vehemently. 

"I will," he promised. After several more thanks and an extension granted by the Jarl, he turned to leave. Arielle was nearly back to her seat when the doors opened once more, the march of many steel boots gaining the attention of everyone in the hall. Galmar lead the approach, an exhausted smile on his face but not much worse for wear, seemingly unscathed from the battle he'd participated in. A few of the soldiers at the back were pulling two carts, an odd sight but her mind quickly disregarded it. After all, they'd just come back from a bloody battle. She wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know what the cart's contained.

"Galmar!" Ulfric bellowed in that deep voice of his as he left his throne to meet the man halfway. His tone was the closest thing to excited she'd ever heard from him. Jorleif immediately began ushering the few remaining citizens out of the castle, offering words of encouragement and promising to hear them out tomorrow. Which, Arielle thought was rather sad. Once again, the people of Windhelm were being pushed aside for war matters. But, she couldn't exactly hear them out herself, Dragonborn or not she was only the Jarl's wife and held no authority over city matters. Ulfric reached the men and she could hear the murmur of their excited conversations. With a sigh, she rose from her throne and met Lydia's brown eyes. She could tell by the look on the woman's face that she was less than thrilled about Galmar's return. With their time at court at an obvious end, she began making her way out of the throne room with Lydia in tow.

They retired to the library, which was now one of Arielle's most preferred places in the castle. It was secluded and usually no one came by to bother her which meant she was free to read in peace. "Maybe you should read a book," she said to her Nord companion that was sitting on the small couch and looking a little embarrassed, clearly not ready to face Galmar again after their unexpected night of passion. Arielle was browsing one of the tall bookshelves herself for a book to get lost in. The fingertips of one of her hands slid over each book's spine as she read the many titles housed in the history section. "Or swing your sword," she tacked on after realizing she'd never once seen Lydia with a book in her hands. The woman was about as Nord as they come and would probably much prefer swinging steel to reading a tome.

Surprisingly, she heard Lydia abandon her seat on the couch and turned to watch the woman take the few steps to the closest bookshelf. Briefly, she wondered what kind of literature the woman preferred but before she could offer assistance to her housecarl, her attention was stolen by a commotion entering the doorway. Ulfric entered, a rather calm expression on his face and she immediately felt sorry for Lydia when Galmar followed closely behind. A confused expression crossed her face when two other soldiers entered the wide doorway, each of them pulling a cart behind them.

"I thought you might be in here," Ulfric said, his voice all too casual and she noticed Jorleif also filing in behind the carts. The steward directed the two soldiers to leave the carts and make their way back to the barracks.

"What's going on?" she asked him, addressing the Jarl in what was probably only the fifth or so time since they'd been married. Icy blue eyes were unreadable as they stared back at her, though she would swear the corner of his mouth was upturned in an expression that looked almost smug. 

"Come. Have a look," he said, gesturing to the carts with a wave of one of his large hands. Not sure what he was up to, she reluctantly crossed the massive room to where the carts sat before peeking inside the first one. A look of genuine surprise crossed her face when she realized that she was looking at her own belongings.

She couldn't believe it. But the proof was right there in front of her. Books, scrolls, alchemy ingredients, artifacts she'd taken from barrows that she probably shouldn't have but did anyway filled both of the carts and it had all come from her house in Whiterun. "A gift from the new Jarl of Whiterun. Your former home there is going to be turned into Whiterun's first orphanage for the children that lost their parent's to the battle. He thought you'd like to have your things back," Ulfric explained, only confusing her further. Vignar was not a generous man and she couldn't picture him giving a skeever's behind about parentless children.

"Get her a desk, Jorleif. A nice one," he said suddenly and she looked over to see him standing at the other cart and holding up a glass jar of crushed ice-wraith teeth, his mouth twisted up in a half smirk. "And proper storage for these," he added before setting the jar down amongst the other ingredients, "Come Galmar. Whiterun is ours, let us plan for Markarth." With that said, the three men took their leave, leaving behind a rather stunned and confused Arielle. She could hear their retreat, steel boots connecting with the rug covered hallway as they made their way, presumably to the war room to plan their next conquest. With their victory in Whiterun secured, it only left the holds of The Reach, Hjaalmarch and Haafingar. Arielle suspected, at the rate of success they were having that the war may very well be won by winter's end. She certainly hoped it would be, the people had suffered enough losses and she was very much looking forward to the rebuilding of Skyrim. It was something her father talked about endlessly and she hoped to see it come to fruition. A healing of the land.

"Well, that was interesting," Lydia said, starting the task of pulling one of the carts to the only open space left in the room, the corner to the right of the door. A large, standing candle holder was the only thing occupying the corner which would make the perfect spot to store her belongings. 

"It was." Arielle agreed while she began sifting through the items in the second cart, taking mental inventory of what was there and what wasn't. A mold of a dragon claw, made of solid gold stood out and she held it up. Lydia was already back to retrieve the second cart and smiled at the sight of the claw. 

"Can't believe you kept that thing. The Jarl's in for it, he has no idea how much of a hoarder you are."

Arielle smiled at the woman's playfulness. "I like stuff," she said with a shrug, "Especially stuff I find on my own."

"Your house always reminded me of Paarthurnax's lair," Lydia teased, "Could barely see the damned dragon around all the 'stuff' he collected."

"Well, he had a thousand years to collect stuff. I've only had one," she said as she made her way over to the cart in the corner to go through it. She began making piles on the floor, separating each of the items by category. Books, ingredients, artifacts and enchanting equipment all had their own pile. It wasn't all of her stuff, but she was thankful to have at least some of it back. A short while later, Jorleif returned and following closely behind him were several servants bringing in an excessive amount of furniture. A large desk with a heavily cushioned chair, two empty bookshelves and a work table were all crammed into the corner of the library, just beneath the stained glass windows, for her own use.

"I can't believe Vignar did this," Arielle said, still trying to wrap her mind around it all.

Jorleif scoffed, "Vignar Gray-mane had nothing to do with it. Your things were sent by the Jarl Hrongar." 

She turned to face the man with a look of shock on her face. "Hrongar?" she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

"Yes," he said with an affirmative nod, "If there's nothing else you need, my lady, I'll take my leave. I've got to see to a dispute in the kitchens." She shook her head and with her permission now secured, he quickly made his way out of the library looking as flushed as she'd ever seen him. He was more high strung than she was when she found out she was the Dragonborn and she genuinely wondered how he lived like that. The man ran around the castle like every second was too precious to let slip by without getting some form of work done. Arielle's life had never been like that. Even in her pursuit to find the World Eater, she'd had plenty of downtime. More than enough time to dwell on her mistakes and pick apart each decision she made with the sharp edge of a knife called hindsight.

When the room was empty of the steward and his help, Arielle immediately adopted the task of putting her things in their new home while a small part of her mind wondered about the Jarl's intentions for gifting her the furniture equivalent of an office. Perhaps he was all too eager to have her keep to herself. After all, her presence was only required when it came to bearing his children. What better way to keep her occupied, than seclude her to one room of the castle?

Her pondering continued in mostly silence as Lydia had finally chosen a book of her own and after stoking the fireplace, settled into the couch, leaving her to muse over her mostly stolen artifacts. The afternoon passed slowly while Arielle worked and she barely noticed when the light outside the window faded to black. Only pulled form her thoughts by the sharp sound of steel boots in the doorway. She tore her eyes off the alchemy ingredients she was taking inventory of on a notepad to see the mountain of a Jarl taking up most of the doorway, icy blue eyes regarding her with a look she couldn't quite decipher.

"Shall I escort you to dinner?" he asked and without having much choice in the matter, she placed her notepad and quill of the desk, crossing the room to take his offered arm. Lydia followed closely behind and the three made their way to the dining hall that had gone back to having only one long table in it. She took her typical seat, to the right of the Jarl and Lydia sat just beside her. Unfortunately, that put them across from Galmar and the silence between them was tense and awkward even before the food was served.

Arielle brought a goblet of water to her lips while a plate of chopped vegetables sitting on a bed of cabbage was placed in front of her. The water was flavored as it usually was. She could see halved cherries and snowberries floating around her cup lending their flavors to the chilled liquid. "Windhelm needs a temple for healing," she said, cutting through the silence with something that she'd had in the back of her mind since she'd healed the farmer's hand. She was honestly surprised that it didn't. Windhelm was nearly the size of Whiterun and a home for many of Skyrim's soldiers, plenty of whom came home with injuries at one time or another.

"Temples are expensive," Ulfric said immediately and she clenched her teeth but let the subject drop while pushing the vegetables around her plate with what she actually thought was the right fork. As much as she'd hate to admit it, she really was getting better at fancy dining. "But.. It's not a bad idea. I'm sure Jorleif can move some things around," he said assuredly and she looked over, not bothering to hide her look of genuine surprise though he did not meet her eyes. Instead, his attention was stolen by one of his generals at the table. A man who, upon a quick glance his way told her that she had no desire to make eye contact with for she was sure he was one of the witnesses to their consummation. Another pair of eyes she had no desire to see was Ralof's. He'd been sent to Whiterun and she had not seen his face among the one's returning earlier and she wondered if he might have been stationed there.

Feeling suddenly embarrassed from the memory of their wedding night, she excused herself from the table and made her way back to their shared room for the night. Lydia followed, but retired to her own room. Leaving Arielle to be welcomed by a peaceful silence when she reached her room, seemingly at the perfect time as it looked like the fire had been recently stoked. She changed out of her blue dress and into a thin silk robe while her small fingers pulled the braids out of her hair. Once her hair was free of it's confines and with the long day finally at an end, she climbed under the thick fur blanket on their shared bed. Assuming he would have no problem waking her up if he wanted her, she relaxed into the mattress and finally allowed her exhausted eyes to close.

Ulfric stayed at his desk long after Galmar retired from the war room for the night. He spent the majority of the evening responding to letters from his generals stationed at the various camps around Skyrim. Too much time sitting at the desk had his back stiff and his mood thoroughly soured. Yet, instead of returning to his own bedroom, where he was sure his young wife would be, he decided to stay at his desk and do a bit of light reading. 

He reached under the ever growing stack of letters to retrieve the small journal he'd spotted in one of the carts earlier. It was heavily used and the pages were half separated from the book's spine. The cover itself seemed sticky with what smelled like dried wine. He took it on impulse, ignoring the curious glance Galmar shot him before he tucked it away for later reading. Because how else was he supposed to get to know her? That woman was dead set on dismissing him, despite his many attempts to converse with her and the gifts he'd showered her with. The only time he'd seen any hint of her true self was when she was mad at either him or someone else. She seemed to have no trouble expressing herself when she was angry.

Despite doing everything he could to make her life more comfortable, most days he was met with an impassive glance that only served to irritate him. Any other woman would have happily accepted his proposal. Any other woman would have come around by now. Had he not made up for his few transgressions? Given her space? Complimented her ethereal beauty endlessly? And there was nothing he couldn't give her, if she would just ask for it. Yet, still she denied him, remaining displeased by his efforts and his frustration only mounted for it. One of his hands smoothed the hairs of his goatee down while he simmered in his irritation.

It was as if she'd resigned herself to be miserable for the rest of her days. She had no interest in even attempting to make things work between them. And things could be decent between them, genuine even. He'd seen it happen in his own parents and was sure they could get there themselves if she'd allow him a gods damned scrap of an opportunity to make it happen. He knew she was a stubborn thing from their very first meeting when she all but demanded a peaceful halt to the war, but he never once expected this amount of resistance.

Of course things got.. complicated, when Ralof appeared. She had done nothing to quell his assumptions, allowing his anger to boil over til he lashed out. Was she not as much at fault for the way things happened? He thought so. Yet she continued to act like he was the one solely at fault. It was beyond maddening. Something had to give..

With an exasperated exhale, he flipped the cover open, nearly separating it from the book's spine as he did. A quick move of his hand brought a bottle of mead to his lips. He drank deeply, the honeyed brew going down smoothly as he swallowed. Turning his attention to the very first entry, he began reading..

_20th of Sun's Dusk. 4E 201_

_It's been three months since Helgen, since I lost my parents. Their loss still pains me greatly to this day. So much so that I can't even talk about it yet. Even now, just the simple act of writing these words is proving more difficult than I could have thought possible. Lydia thinks this will help, since I can't even communicate my feelings to her and she is sworn to me. Everything has changed so much in such a short amount of time that I'm still struggling to come to terms with it all. I am the Dragonborn, I now know this to be true. Yet I can't help but loathe that truth in it's entirety._

_From the moment I killed Mirmulnir and took his soul, I knew there was no going back to the person I used to be. The awakening of my dragon soul has changed me in an irreparable way. I still have my aspirations, my dreams for a life that is far from this one I'm currently living. But those desires are now overshadowed by this power I struggle at times to control. My Thu'um swims just beneath the surface and threatens to break free from my chest from the simple act of drawing breath. Master Arngeir is confident that control will come quickly with practice. But things are happening so fast and the power that has awakened inside myself terrifies me with a sense of foreboding._

_For now, all I can do is look forward. Waiting, expecting the next calamity in this series of unfortunate events. My thoughts are not with me at High Hrothgar. They are focused on what awaits my return to Whiterun. The man that named me thane did not take kindly to me declining his proposition of marriage. But how could I ever give my hand to a man that I barely know. My mind is fresh to the ways of the world outside Helgen but my father's teachings remain and I could not shame him in such a way. I can see in the Jarl's eyes when he looks at me, that he's looking for ways to exploit my power. He looks at me as if I'm a weapon, a thing to be used as he pleases. And the people.. they now look at me like I'm some great hero that will resolve all of their problems. The responsibility that has suddenly been thrust upon my shoulders seems unbearable in it's heaviness. A burden that weighs on my mind and my heart and I can't help but feel as if I'm drowning in it. Most days I struggle with the simple act of drawing breath around my heavy thoughts. It's as if they're so tangible that they're constricting my lungs, depriving them of the precious air I need to survive. And I'm starting to wonder, if it might always be this way._

_One thing I know to be true, is that no part of me desires this power I've come into. The day the Greybeards called for me, I will forever remember as one of the worst days of my life. Second only to the loss of my beloved family. But I know, deep down that I have many more rough days ahead. I can feel it. And I know going forward, nothing will ever be the same..._


	10. Compelled

_26th Sun's Dusk 4E 202_

_It's been just over a year now since my very first entry and this one may well be my last. Every moment feels rushed now, time seems to slip from me ever faster the closer I get to the end of my journey. Whether it is the end of me or not, is not for me to know. For all my training with the Greybeards, all of the power I've come into, I know that Alduin is my equal in it all. I can't help but feel that it's up to Akatosh who will win this battle between his children._

_I should be sleeping, for I know tomorrow is the day we will attempt to capture Ohdaviing. But for all of my effort, sleep evades me. The Jarl has granted me the use of his castle's trap and his men to help control the beast once ensnared. But, I can't help but wonder what his aid will cost me upon my return. I know what he wants, what he still believes I will give him in time but I can not. Despite all of my time spent at Dragonsreach over the past year, I still harbor no feelings of affection toward the Jarl. And even if I did, it would matter little now that I am betrothed to another._

_Fortunately, my efforts to achieve a ceasefire in this war proved successful in the halls of High Hrothgar. Though my hopes for an armistice nearly burned to the ground the moment General Tullius walked in with Skyrim's chief Thalmor agent, a clear attempt to provoke the Stormcloaks into a fight despite his agreement to negotiate in good faith. Dishonest men like that don't deserve their station and on the day of his death, I will be more than glad for it. Even worse, was that I was forced to set aside my own hatred and desire to end that foul creature Elenwen for the sake of the negotiation. The sight and smell of her torture chamber still lingers in the back of my mind, haunting me. I remember all too well my fathers stories of the war, but seeing such atrocities with my own eyes was, so much worse than a re-telling and I could not have imagined such a horrific scene actually existed, without bearing witness to it first. I do believe letting her walk away while knowing the monstrosities she's capable of, was among the most difficult things I've ever done. I can only pray that she will fall to the Stormcloaks alongside Tulius._

_My biggest challenge was overseeing the negotiations in good faith myself while knowing my own life may soon be tied to the Stormcloaks and their victory in this war. This betrothal I've agreed to, not a day goes by that I don't replay that conversation in my mind, regretting every bit of it. For all the praise my father spoke of the Jarl and his aims to distance Skyrim from the Empire that now bends it's knee to the elves, I can not believe he would have allowed me to agree to wed him. Furthermore, my mind is troubled by the more disturbing rumors I've heard of him and the gravity of what I've agreed to is only now settling in. The realization of what I've done to myself is a startling one. If I am successful in my efforts to defeat Alduin, it will do little good for myself with another foe waiting just behind him to fill the void. The consequences of my success or failure will be lasting either way. Worse still, is that I no longer know which outcome I fear more, dying in battle with the World Eater, or subjugating myself to the Bear of Eastmarch._

Arielle was standing on the lone balcony the palace had to offer. Her inexpressive face gazed down at the bustling city before her while the tips of her fingers mindlessly tapped against the stone balustrade in front of her. It was snowing, thick clumps of white fell generously from the sky, blanketing the landscape and making the harsh stones that made up the city of Windhelm seem softer. Though, as beautiful as the sight was, it had done little to deter her from her brooding.

She discovered the balcony a few days prior in her exploring of the upper level of the palace. Without court to attend, it left Arielle with plenty of time during the day. She resolved to familiarize herself with each part of her new home since she would be living in it for the rest of her days. Of course, the majority of her time was still spent in the library, one of the only places in the castle she didn't mind occupying due to it's exclusivity and the fact that it now housed the majority of her belongings. But upon discovering the balcony, she mentally noted it as her second favorite place in the massive palace. Even better was that it wrapped around to the back of the palace as well and from there, she could gaze upon the training grounds. Which was exactly what she and Lydia had been doing until a few moments ago. She spotted Galmar there, leading the training for the newest of recruits. They seemed to pour in even quicker now, all too eager to join the fight against the treacherous Empire. The Jarl chocked the sudden influx of soldiers up to their marriage, maintaining the notion that their union was the will of the gods. But Arielle could not bring herself to believe that the gods did this to her. Rather, she knew that it was her own poor choices that led her here.

Only when Galmar discovered their presence on the balcony, did the women migrate to the front of the palace. The balcony's large size meant Arielle would have plenty of access to fresh air. The icy air seemed to penetrate her lungs better, almost allowing her to breathe deeper than she had inside the sometimes too-warm castle. Which is why she continued to stand outside, despite the snow falling around her.

With a sigh she leaned forward, resting her velvet covered forearms against the stone balustrade in front of her. From where she stood, she could see the hundreds of lanterns, garlands and streamers that decorated the majority of the city before her. The bright green, gold and red colors stood out clearly against the backdrop of snow covered stone. Today marked the first day of a new year and the beginning of the New Life festival that would run through the month of Morning Star. Memories forced themselves to the surface of her mind, despite her best attempts to keep her thoughts under control. This festival, would be her second one without her parents and she was just as downhearted this time around as the first. So much so, that she hadn't even waited for Rona to do anything with her hair before slipping out of her room. When she rose from the plush furs of her shared bed, she threw on the first dress her fingers touched, tossed the circlet onto the top of her blonde tresses and slipped her cloak around her shoulders before stepping out of her room.

"If we stay out much longer, we will surely freeze to death," said Lydia, snapping her out of her thoughts and she looked over at the woman covered in steel, looking all too unbothered by the snow falling around her and picking at her nails with the sharp end of a dagger.

"So says the Nord," she replied dryly, earning a snorted laugh from the woman beside her.

"If I did not succumb to the elements myself, the Jarl would surely have my head for allowing his wife to do so. Either way, I will be right behind you. As promised," she said, sheathing her dagger to cross her arms.

Arielle's face took on a deep frown as she continued to gaze at the decorations, while the memories of much happier times danced in her mind. "It's New Life again," she said, her voice thick with the sorrow she felt in the pit of her heart. Back in Helgen, Arielle and her father would turn their hunting into a friendly competition during the month of Morning Star. In the more recent years, they would finish their days off with a drink at the inn and when her mother returned from work they would continue to celebrate with games, dancing and occasional gift giving. It was one of those times of the year when Arielle really got to appreciate being born half Breton and half Nord. Her parents worked flawlessly to combine the New Life festival with Saturalia so she would know every bit of her heritage. It was wholesome and good and her heart bled from the memory of it. Even worse was the realization that the Jarl himself was as Nordic as they come and judging by their very traditional wedding, she garnered that while their children may carry Breton blood, half of the traditions she holds close to her heart will end with her. "I fear I may never again celebrate Saturalia," she confessed.

"Have you talked to him about it?" Lydia asked, to which she scoffed.

"There's no reasoning with that man," she said with a shake of her head. The consequences of the last time she tried were still all too fresh in her mind.

The sound of a door suddenly opening behind them caught both of their attention. Arielle's arms abandoned the cold stone as she turned to see the newcomer. It was Jorleif, and he was looking as flushed and unkempt as ever as he stood in the doorway. "You are a most difficult woman to find, my lady," he said, almost breathlessly so and she wondered how long he'd traipsed around the castle looking for her, "The Jarl would like to see you in the war room, before dinner, if you're able."

Her eyes fell closed and she released a sigh at that announcement. Still, she gave the man a short nod and made to follow him back inside the palace. He was already hurrying down the hallway when she was greeted by the warmth of the candle lit hallway. It was nearing nightfall now and the sky was so darkened with heavy snow clouds that it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness inside the castle from the candle light. Immediately, her fingers unclasped the cloak from around her neck and hung it to dry on one of the coat hooks mounted against the wall. After parting ways with Lydia, she made her way down the hallway and stairs before finally reaching the war room. The door was closed but it not deter her and she pushed it open to find the room's sole occupant scribbling away at his desk and surrounded by half a dozen candles and an ever-growing pile of parchment.

Upon hearing her entry, his hand stilled and she watched his icy blue eyes find hers before the corner of his mouth turned up at the sight of her. "Arielle," he greeted, which was a continuation of the newest development between them over the past few days. Ulfric had been overly cordial toward her despite her previous protests of pretending. And when they were alone, which wasn't often since he'd spent nearly every waking moment planning to take on Morthal and Markarth, he would use her name. Letting the door close behind herself, she took the few steps to where he sat at his desk. Though, the man was so huge he may as well have been standing beside her. 

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, only for him to hold his hand out, palm up.

"Your hand is like ice," he said, in that deep, masculine voice of his when she placed her hand in his before bringing the back of her palm to his lips in a chaste kiss. 

Truthfully, she hadn't noticed their coldness while she was outside. But now, with the warmth of his own hand enveloping hers she could absolutely feel the differences in their temperatures and see with her own eyes, the flush of her skin from the cold. Her eyes strayed from his false display of affection to land on a cluster of candles occupying the corner of his desk. The flames danced slow and methodically, undisturbed by the stagnant air in the room. 

"I was outside," she explained, watching a drop of melted wax slip down the length of a candle, drying before it could reach the dish beneath it. He hummed in response and released her hand before her eyes watched him rifle through a few papers. He selected one, briefly observing the torn wax seal before holding it out for her. 

"Read this, tell me your thoughts," he said, only for a confused expression to cross her face as she took the offered letter.

It was addressed to him and bore the seal of the Jarl of Hjaalmarch. "Why?" she asked, wondering why he suddenly wanted her opinion on anything. He certainly never needed it before. She kept her eyes trained on the paper in her hands, waiting for his response. 

"Because I'd like to hear your thoughts." 

A deep frown crossed her face when his words reached her ears. The memory of the last time she'd freely spoken her thoughts in the very same room was still fresh and she had no desire to be struck again. She set the letter on his desk with a shake of her head. "I think your knowledge of high politics far surpasses my own," she said abruptly, turning away with the intention of leaving only for one of his large hands to wrap around her thin wrist in a vice grip before she took a single step. She met his eyes, icy blue irises bore into her own and she could see the irritation brewing in them before he held out the letter once more. 

"Your thoughts?"

It felt like a trick, but for her lack of options, she relented and took the letter. Her eyes scanned the written letter, her lips parting for a scoff to escape her at what she saw. Idgrod wanted to surrender, as long as it kept her in power as the presiding Jarl. Arielle's expression morphed into one of irritation as she read the rest of the message. Her hatred for that particular woman had steadily brewed for the better part of a year now. It was just so typical of her to look out for her own neck with little regard for others. "I saw her once," she said, taking the time to refold the letter before passing it back to Ulfric, "She was inside the Thalmor embassy. Enjoying a dinner party and having a drink of wine with Elenwen herself," she finished, not bothering to hide the disgust in her tone.

"And what were you doing there, at the Thalmor embassy?" he asked, a genuine expression of curiosity on his face.

"The Blades and I raided their embassy looking for information on the dragons." A deep frown came to her face at the memory of what she found instead. The sight of the bloody cells of Elenwen's interrogation chamber was still burned into her mind, bringing about a fresh wave of hatred for the demon bitch. "They didn't have any. But if you want my thoughts I will give them, Idgrod plays both sides for her own gain and is no friend to Skyrim. Anyone that could stoop so low as to sit at a Thalmor's table, should burn." She watched him process her words before the corner of his mouth turned up. Seemingly pleased with her response, he stood from his chair, leaving the letter on his desk and she was forced to crane her neck to keep his eyes.

"And burn she will," he said, his voice ringing clear with absolution before offering his arm to her, "Now, I believe it's dinner time."

He led her to the dining hall, as he had so many times by now. Though tonight was the first time they'd dined together in several nights. The Jarl had been so occupied by his war that he'd taken his meals in the war room more than a few times in the past week. The table was full, as it usually was and she noticed that Lydia was already there as well. She greeted the woman with a half smile when she took her seat and wasted no time bringing the goblet of wine to her lips while the soft strumming of a lute reached her ears. It was an odd flavor, sweet at first with a distinct aftertaste of tart. Conversations erupted around the table and small bowls of soup were placed in front of all the diners. After her lengthy stay in the cold, Arielle eagerly brought a spoonful of the still steaming liquid past her lips. Potato soup, she discovered upon the frst taste. It was thick and creamy, heavily flavored with garlic and sage.

"The temple opened today. Jorleif finally found someone to take the position," Ulfric said and a frown came to her face at the news. More than a few soldiers had returned from skirmishes along the outskirts of Hjaalmarch heavily wounded and in need of supporting care.

"One person?" she asked incredulously, "They'll be run ragged by week's end," she told him, to which he scoffed.

"Does nothing please you?" he said with a snap, not at all attempting to hide his mounting irritation. The sudden harshness of his deep voice brought a halt to the conversations around them. She clenched her teeth, the man was entirely impossible to deal with and she could feel her own irritation rising for it. 

"I could help," she said, meeting his eyes.

The corner of his lip twitched as his icy blue eyes narrowed into a harsh glare, "No."

"Why not?" she pressed, mirroring his expression of irritation. She was skilled in the arts of healing. It made no sense to stand by while soldiers were ill when she had the ability to help them. "My mother was a healer. I have the skill to help them. I can-"

"Enough!" he bellowed, his fist coming down hard on the table as he did, causing the cutlery to tremble and startling her in the process. Her eyes closed while she listened to the angry breathing beside her. A sardonic laugh escaped her while she came to grips with the ridiculousness of her own actions with a shake of her head. She should have known better than to try to reason with a man such as him. A man that only wanted her opinions when it suited him. Without another word spoken, she rose from her place at the table and left the dining hall, her hands curled into fists so tight that her knuckles were white from the tension. She cursed her own foolishness the whole way back to her bedroom.

When her dress was removed and her blonde hair was free of the circlet, she slid beneath the plush fur blanket with a book on herbalism she'd borrowed from the library. While she was thoroughly versed in the various plants that grew in the southern regions of Skyrim, there were more than a few plants native to the chill of the north that she was unfamiliar with. Judging from the sizable pile of parchments she'd seen on the Jarl's desk earlier, she assumed it would be another late night for him. The past few nights, she fell asleep long before he joined her in bed. Only knew he did from the slight jostling of being pulled against him.

She was surprised however, when she heard the door open sometime later and she turned from her position on her stomach to watch the Jarl as he immediately started the task of undressing. A cloak of fur and a steel chestplate were removed to reveal a blue linen tunic. Though she tore her eyes away from him when he stepped out of his boots. The sound of him removing his trousers reached her ears before light footsteps and finally, she felt the dip in the mattress beside her. While she could see him settling beside her in the corner of her vision, she kept her eyes trained on the chapter in front of her. The wilds of Eastmarch were teeming with jazbay grapes and the chapter was going into great detail about their applied magical properties.

"You can't leave the palace, not until the war is over. Maybe not even then," he said calmly. Although there was no hint of his earlier irritation in his voice, it did nothing to stop the deep frown that pulled at her features. The news of her imprisonment didn't surprise her, but hearing it audibly confirmed was a hard potion to swallow. With her lack of a response, he sighed. "There are few things I would deny you and this is one of them. If you're not yet with child, you will be soon and I have no desire to see our unborn babe cut from your womb by our enemies."

She felt the blood drain from her face, her expression morphing into one of horror at his words. She met his eyes with her own wide ones, could see the seriousness of his warning in them. "And that's just the start of what they'd do to you as my wife if they got their hands on you. This is war. You may be the Dragonborn, but you're still a woman." She watched him close the book in front of her before moving it to the bedside table behind him. With the book now gone, he pulled the fur blanket away from her body and though she'd slept next to him for nearly two weeks now, her hands still went to her chest in a desperate attempt to cover herself as she was rolled to her back. Then he was above her, a wall of hardened muscle caging her against the soft mattress, his strong hands pulling hers away from herself. Unmistakable, was the fire in his eyes as they raked over her bare skin. "A very, very beautiful woman," he said, palming the delicate skin of her upper chest.

She knew this was coming, expected it even, but that knowledge did nothing to keep the fear of laying with him again from welling in her. Her pulse raced through her veins and unable to meet his icy stare and hardened features from the glow of the fire while he touched her, she turned her face from his. Her eyes landed on the jar of troll fat still resting on her own bedside table and she reached for it. He quickly stopped her, his large hand stilling her own much smaller one. "We wont be needing that," he said, almost too calmly and her body reacted instinctively, her muscles trembling beneath the body that caged her.

"Please," she said, though it came out little more than a whisper, "Don't hurt me again."

She saw the flash of anger in his eyes, heard the audible snap of his teeth and sudden tightness in his jaw. Fearing the worst, her eyes screwed shut, her breaths coming faster from the memory of the first time. He scoffed, unaffected by her emotional display, "Of all the men you should fear, Arielle.. your own husband isn't one of them."

And how could he say that? When it was he that brought her physical pain not once but twice now. However, she was torn from those thoughts when lips, that were far softer than they had a right to be, landed on her collarbone. The feeling was foreign and not at all pleasant, though that fact did little to deter him from palming the skin of her chest while his lips continued to move across her skin, accompanied by a slight prickling of the hairs of his goatee. And she could feel the hardness of him, resting between her legs, a prelude that only encouraged the panic that welled within her. A deep crease appeared in her brow when his lips migrated to the swell of her breast. But her confusion was short lived, her mind abruptly occupied by a sudden warmth blooming deeply inside her when his mouth closed around the peak of a breast. He suckled there, causing a brand new sensation to shoot down her spine and force a gasp past her lips.

His lips released her breast with a gentle pop, only for his teeth to graze across her painfully hardened nipple. "Stop," she breathed in a panic, suddenly flushed from the feeling that was far too intense to endure for any length of time. Her eyes remained tightly closed, but she felt the laugh he exhaled hit her skin, causing gooseflesh in it's wake and only serving to stimulate her further. 

"Is it unpleasant?" he asked, with no small amount of amusement in his voice and no sooner did her lips part to reply, that his own closed around her other breast. The hand he wasn't using to hold his weight above her massaged the first breast, groping the swell of it before pulling at her nipple and the combination of his lips and fingers against the sensitive buds was overwhelmingly strong. A soft cry escaped her from the intense stimulation that caused her body to writhe and twitch and she felt blood pool in her cheeks in a deep blush of humiliation. She'd never made a sound like that in her life, she was sure.

The Jarl's lips and fingers abandoned her then, though his breaths still hit her skin rhythmically causing a shiver to run down her spine and she suddenly registered the sheet that was clutched tightly in her small fists. A finger was pressed against her nethers and she didn't know what startled her more, the feeling of his digits sliding easily between her folds or the sudden dampness that allowed them to do so. The tips of his fingers moved higher, pressing against a spot that had an immediate affect on her body. Her hips bucked, a breathy exhale leaving her lips and her blush deepened for it. "Please," she pleaded, half whining around the stimulation when his fingers focused on that spot, moving in slow circles that forced her body to respond.

An exhaled laugh hit her face while her body moved against his hand of it's own accord. "I will please you," he said, an audible huskiness in his deep voice that she'd never heard before, "Whether you want me to or not." With that said, one of his thick fingers plunged inside her, his thumb moving to that most sensitive spot and rubbing against her in a way that had her lips parting, her face morphing into an expression of ecstasy and she cried out as her back arched from the mattress. "Sweet Dibella, you're perfect," he cooed approvingly. Though his words barely registered over the feelings that were welling within her while his finger continued to thrust inside her. A sensation that could only be described as fire was steadily building, enveloping each of her nerves in a blaze that stemmed from the pit of her belly. Soon after, another finger was thrust inside to accompany the first. They worked together, massaging her inner muscles in a way that had her head pressing back into the pillow, her hips lifting, searching for more of the pleasant friction that was suddenly thrust upon her body. The feeling of his hand against her, inside her, was too strong to endure and her heavy panting turned into a steady stream of moans that only grew in volume as the blaze threatened to consume her.

Her hands released the sheet in favor of clutching fistfuls of his tunic. "No more," she breathed shakily as she neared the precipice of what she was sure was her limit for such stimulation, her mind still rejecting what her body had already given into. Instead of doing as she asked, his lips closed around her breast again, suckling there and the tension in her muscles only coiled tighter for it. Her body arched into his mouth and hand, despite her wishes for it to end. And when his thick fingers curled within her, all forms of rational thought abandoned her and she keened, her hips jerking fervidly against his hand. His thumb pressed harder circles against that most sensitive spot, quickly bringing the budding fire to a blazing crescendo and she cried out as her body was overwhelmed by a rush of pleasure enveloping her from head to toe. Sparks danced behind her closed lids, her mind wiped clean of everything but the pure ecstasy that radiated throughout her body, touching her very soul. And when it was over, she was limp against the soft mattress beneath him.

Only a second of silence passed before her legs were spread wide by his own and she felt him, hard and insistent at her now slickened entrance. She was far too exhausted from his efforts to fight him and he gave her no time to recover before he pushed himself between her delicate folds. He entered her much slower than the first time he had her, but he was still so much bigger than her and the stretch of her muscles around him burned as she was forced to accommodate him. She whined from the sudden pain when his hips were flush with her own. A deep groan that reminded her of a wild animal reached her ears, though he slowly pulled himself out, only for his thumb to return to that especially sensitive spot between her legs. He massaged her there while he thrust himself back into her with the softest of strokes, setting a leisured pace designed to stimulate her sensitive insides and he was rewarded when throaty moans were forced from her lips. As much as she didn't want him, the throbbing in her loins soon alerted her to the fact that her body definitely did and though she was incredibly sensitive from his earlier efforts, her body eagerly accepted him inside her as she writhed against his girth. Her legs found his waist, welcoming him deeper than before as the fire returned to the pit of her belly, earning a deep groan of approval from the man above her.

"You have the cunt of a queen, Arielle," Ulfric groaned, low in her ear while he continued to move his sweat-slickened skin against hers. Despite her wants for it to be over, that fire blazed even hotter when his thumb stopped it's ministrations only for his large hand to wrap around her shapely hip in a bruising grip, "And I can think of no better way to celebrate New Life, than for your queenly cunt to milk the seed from my cock." 

She whined from the filthy words his deep voiced poured in her ear, hating the way her body reacted to them, the eager gyrating of her hips over his girth. He held her small body in a vice grip, pulling her against his every thrust. Each one more rough than the last, reaching a fevered pace that caused more throaty moans of passion to erupt from her lips. Her hands found his tunic again, only for something to hold onto while he controlled her body that now shook in time with his thrusts, forcing her to endure the overwhelming pleasure that was quickly reaching another peak. And when his teeth sharply sank into the skin of her shoulder, her delicate flesh erupted with a pain that ripped a cry of ecstasy from her lips as she came undone in his arms and around his girth. Gone unnoticed was the curling of her toes and tight arching of her back, her mind entirely occupied by the pleasure that had her nerves coming alive like sparks of lightening and her muscles contracting with each wave of bliss that washed over her.

He was still inside her, but stilled when she came back to her senses. Her breaths were shallow from the weight of him pressing her into the mattress as his warm exhales collided rhythmically with her neck. The fireplace crackled and popped, undisturbed by their coupling and the sound lulled her in the otherwise quiet room. So much that she barely registered the loss of him between her legs and his weight shifting to the side of her. Far too exhausted to consider the new experiences thrust upon her, she happily accepted the warmth of the fur blanket enveloping her and the blissful sleep that embraced her.


	11. Succored

"I did not think he was capable of such sentiments," Arielle confessed to her brunette companion while her hands worked meticulously to grind ice-wraith teeth down to a fine powder with her stone mortar and pestle. Lydia let out a heavy sigh as she slumped into the lone chair in front of the desk, still out of breath from her previous time spent in the training yard. 

"He's lost his mind, I'm sure of it." she said flatly. 

"Perhaps the upcoming battle for Reachwind has him tense?" she offered while wondering if she'd lost her own mind in the process. The past four weeks had seen Arielle and the Jarl's relationship change in a way that was nothing short of startling. She was still far from fond of the man, but she could not deny his talents as a lover. Even worse, was that she eventually found herself actually looking forward to each day's end. And she hated that. Hated that he could affect her that way. She should not want, let alone even be able to stand his touch after the awful way he treated her. But her body didn't care about his previous transgressions. No, her body only cared about the pleasure he could, and did give her each night. And that revelation, was solely responsible for the newest wave of shame that blossomed inside her mind. Yes, she was sure, she had most definitely lost her mind. 

"Tense and misplacing his senses, perhaps," said Lydia, only for Arielle to scoff. 

"Oh, come now," she said, her hands stilling around her equipment so she might meet the other woman's eyes, "However strange it was hearing those words from Galmar's lips, it does not retract from the truth of them," she said before turning her attention back to the mortar to find the ice wraith teeth perfectly ground. How long had she been done and not noticed? Ignoring that train of thought, she added the powdered teeth to the beaker that was suspended over a small flame. After that, she added the smallest of pinches of powdered iron before stirring the concoction with a glass rod while she considered her housecarl's situation. The Stormcloak's success in taking the capitol of Hjaalmarch was a swift one. So, perhaps, Galmar was still riding that particular high when he invited a certain beautiful brunette woman to his personal chambers for a drink. 

Lydia sighed. "It was an accident. It shouldn't have happened in the first place," she grumbled in reference to her single night of passion with the Jarl's own housecarl. Arielle removed the now bubbling beaker from the open flame, before placing it on a bed of frost salts for rapid cooling. 

"Well, it seems like he is more than hopeful for another accident." she said, turning her attention to one of the desk's drawers. It was a deep drawer, full of empty potion bottles that were kept stocked for her, which she was far from complaining about. She selected a large, dark purple one and removed the cork before placing it on her work table. 

"He will stay hopeful then," said Lydia and the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile while her small hands fitted a funnel over the bottle's opening. She reached for the beaker, swirling the liquid inside a few times before pressing her free hand against the glass to test the temperature. Satisfied with the now lukewarm liquid, she poured the entire contents of the beaker into the new bottle and quickly exchanged the funnel for the thick cork, sealing the potion inside. 

A sharp knock on the library's door earned her attention and she turned in time for Jorleif to appear in the now open door. "My lady, Sonja has arrived and waits in the throne room," he said and after thanking him, she quickly added the purple bottle to the already overflowing basket of potions. 

"Perfect timing," she said to herself as she grabbed the basket's handle and started toward the door. The green velvet of her dress's skirt grazed the rugs beneath her feet as she made her way out of the library with Lydia in tow. A few short moments later and the pair entered the throne room where Inga was waiting, as promised. The blonde-haired Nord was sitting on one of the offered benches, her hair wound into a tight bun at the back of her head, until noticing Arielle's arrival. Once she did, she stood immediately before greeting her with a slight bow. 

"I can't thank you enough my lady," she said as Arielle passed the basket to the woman's hands. She was fairly young, only a few or so years older than Arielle's own twenty two winters and freshly graduated from the college of Winterhold. The tip of one of her index fingers landed on the large purple bottle, the most recent addition among the twenty or so potions she'd concocted to help the woman treating the injured soldiers and citizens. 

"This one goes on the wound directly. A slight bit of nightshade and ice wraith teeth is used for local numbing," she explained, "It is especially helpful for removing arrows and will help with the more severe sword wounds."

"Worked well enough when Alduin clawed you up," Lydia spoke up from beside her. 

"That too," Arielle agreed, "I believe it was this potion alone that kept me on my feet after that particular battle," she said only for the woman's hazel eyes to widen, "It was one of my mother's own recipes. She used it quite frequently on the more injured soldiers stationed near Helgen. Until the Imperial's took control of the hold anyway." She waved a hand dismissively, as if the memory of her late mother could be physically forced from her mind by the movement. "I've included instructions for everything at the bottom."

"I can't thank you enough. Your help alone will heal so many more than I could have managed alone. Thank you my lady," 

A small smile came to her face at the woman's words. It felt good to finally be doing something of substance. Even if she wasn't healing with her own hands, it was still rewarding to lend a hand to the cause. "I'll have a new basket ready next Fredas-"

"There she is, my lovely wife," came the deep, unmistakable voice of the Jarl. She turned to face the man approaching her. And for all their time spent together, he still reminded her of a bear when he approached her. Unreasonably tall and broad, taking up the majority of her field of vision with steel and wool when he came to a stop in front of her. Hushed whispers behind her caught her attention and she looked behind herself to see Jorleif already ushering the healer out of the palace, causing her mouth to turn down in a frown. She met the Jarl's icy eyes with her own deep blue ones. 

"I'd like to formally introduce you to one of my officers. This is Tobias," he said in reference to the auburn-haired man beside him, looking all-too unthreatening next to her mountain of a husband. A deep crease formed in her brow as she considered the newcomer in front of her. His, scruffy auburn jaw and striking green eyes looked, oddly familiar but she could not recall hearing his name before. 

"Have we met?" she asked the man that was now kneeling in front of her for some unknowable reason. 

"We have," he said, looking at her with awe in his eyes. Which was, not a way she liked to be looked at. She received that look many times after the Greybeards called for her. It was the kind of look that reminded her of what she was, the Dragonborn. And what she no longer was, the happy girl with big dreams. "You rescued me from the Thalmor," he told her and it suddenly dawned on her as the memory resurfaced. It was early in Arielle's journey when she and and Lydia had quite accidentally stumbled upon a couple of Thalmor agents transporting a man in ropes. 

She remembered the way her anger boiled watching the scene before her. How the man was stripped down to rags with thin wrappings on his bare feet that had done nothing to stop them from bleeding from exposure and walking on them for who knows how long. Half-starved, bleeding, the look of death in his eyes.. just the memory of it caused a flicker of anger in the pit of her soul. "You gave me your backpack," he said, his admiration bleeding into his tone, "Your food, potions, everything." He shook his head as if in disbelief, "You and Ulfric will be the leaders Skyrim needs and my sword will always be yours, should you need it." 

His words hit her in the worst of ways. A sudden wave of nausea overcame her and she immediately excused herself for it. It was similar to the way she felt only hours ago when she'd been unfortunate enough to witness a rather headless chicken running out of the kitchens and into the dining room still full of diners, blood sputtering from the veins in it's neck right after she'd finished her breakfast. She'd seen more than her fare share of gore in her time traipsing across Skyrim to save it. Even during her stay in Windhelm, when she happened upon the gods awful sight of the 'Butcher's' committed atrocities. But for some reason, the unnatural sight of something moving around without it's head made her suddenly ill. Her breakfast didn't stay down for very long and she feared the very meager lunch she'd picked at was about to suffer the same fate. The sound of steel boots followed closely behind her til she reached the hallway. 

"Arielle," Ulfric called when she had yet to slow her pace. She stopped, but made no move to face him. He approached regardless, the sound of his boots moving ever closer in the rug covered, stone floor of the hallway til he came into her field of vision as he stood in front of her. They were just beside the war room, she realized when her eyes strayed to the lone door to her left. She met his eyes then, saw his expectant expression as he waited for her to explain herself. Her face was set in a deep frown for a long moment. It would do no good to talk to him. 

"It's nothing," she quickly said, "I only need a bit of air." 

She made to step around him, only for one of his hands to clasp firmly around one of her thin wrists. He took the few steps to the war room, lightly pulling her along as he did and a few seconds later, the door was closed and they were alone in the candle-lit room. "I have never lied to you Arielle," he said, his deep voice even lower than usual and she knew his words were meant as a warning. 

A deep breath invaded her lungs before she spoke. "I don't want to be a queen," she said with a shake of her head, "consort or otherwise." 

"It's a bit late for that," he said, with little emotion in his voice. 

"You don't understand.." she said, wrenching her eyes closed at the painful memory of her encounter with the Thalmor agents. The sight of what she'd done to them when she was still new to her powers and unable to separate them from her anger. So much blood.. more than she'd ever seen in her life and she could remember heaving the contents of her stomach long after her anger had subsided. "I already have more than my fair share of power," she said without meeting his eyes. Instead, her sight landed on a stray quill that was laying on the stone floor some five or so paces away and she clasped her hands tightly together in front of herself. "I'm not like you, Ulfric. My body is flesh, it's true, but I am a dragon. You put me on a throne and then what? ..What if it's not enough?" What if she became Alduin? Everything she worked for, everything she sacrificed and lost would have been for nothing. 

He took the few steps between them before a firm press of the tip of his finger forced her head up to meet his eyes, "You have far too much compassion to become corrupted by your own power." Eyes that reminded her of glaciers in the Sea of Ghosts studied her face for a moment. "You healed the Butcher. You could have easily killed him for his crimes. Instead you brought him here, to face proper justice," he said casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not the very real threat Arielle could become if left unchecked. How could he not see the danger? 

Her eyes watched him as he started toward his desk. "Has Tobias told you what I did to those Thalmor agents?" she asked and he hummed in the affirmative as he pulled one of the drawers open, retrieving a small silk pouch. 

"Nothing short of what they deserved and you liberated him in the process," he said cooly, all too unbothered by the fact that she not only killed, but slaughtered them. She sighed, leaning a hip against the war table and crossed her arms. It was utterly pointless to talk to him. He either didn't understand, or didn't care. Probably the latter.

"I was seventeen when I joined the war.." he said, suddenly earning her full attention and she watched him sit in the lone chair behind his desk before curling an index finger toward himself in a 'come hither' motion. She relented out of curiosity, crossing the small space between them til she stood beside him, her deep frown still firmly in place as she waited for him to speak. "I was fresh out of my training with the Greybeards and.. arrogant with my newly gained power. I used it greedily in the fight against the Dominion," he paused, his expression taking on something akin to regret before he continued. "I paid full price for that arrogance," he said assuredly before letting out an exasperated snort. She shot him a look of confusion but he ignored it in favor of pulling her closer by her wrist and she leaned a hip against the edge of his desk while she watched him bring the back of her hand to his lips. "Our stories are not the same. You may be young, but you are.. overzealous in your self-control," he said, dropping her hand to open the silk pouch resting on his desk. 

Polished silver caught her attention and her eyes focused on the bracelet the Jarl began fitting to her left wrist. It was a near solid cuff of silver, designed to look like rope with the head of a dragon and bear facing each other at the small opening, teeth bared toward one another, conjuring a mental picture of herself and the Jarl during their many arguments. There were no sapphires, no diamonds to be found on the thin bracelet. In fact, it looked rather plain. Yet, somehow she considered it the nicest thing he'd given her. "What do you think of it?" he asked while she toyed with her newest gift, examining the animals' heads closely. 

"I think if I were to fall into the river Yorgrim, I would go straight to the bottom from the weight of my jewelry alone," she said, meeting his eyes in time for the corner of his mouth to turn up in an almost smile. 

"Amusing," he said before his eyes trailed over her hair and face before finally taking notice of what she was wearing. "You look beautiful, as always," he said, reaching up to grab the end of one of her blonde braids. The end was secured with a silver cuff, similar to the ones scattered throughout his own braided hair and he considered her while he rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. A little too much fire salts and one of her potions had quite literally exploded a little while after breakfast, so a change of clothes became necessary. Rona happened to be in her room, finishing the hem on her newest dress so she allowed the woman to add a few braids to her hair. The woman was all too eager to decorate her hair for the upcoming feast that would celebrate the end of the festival. "And festive," he finished in reference to her deep green dress. 

While she had not intended to wear the new dress yet, it certainly did go well with the theme of New Life as today was the very last day of Morning Star. "It was unintentional," she said when he dropped her braid and she stepped away from him only to approach the table behind him where the newest pile of mail had arrived for the Jarl. She gathered the pile and made her way to the war table where she let the letters drop to the table's map covered surface. Since they were already in the war room, she may as well lend a hand. Though she still found the task of sorting the Jarl's mail into piles she considered important and not, quite degrading, she still did it to appease him. Over the month and a half she'd spent in Windhelm, she'd quickly learned which battles to fight and if he insisted that he valued her opinion on which letters were the most pressing, she would let him live his lie. 

A quick glance spared in the Jarl's direction told her that he'd already adopted the task of responding to the sorted letters piled on his desk, the ink-dampened quill in his hand scratched rapidly against a fresh piece of parchment as he wrote his reply. She settled into the chair closest to his desk at the table and reached for the first letter in her own pile. One of her index fingers hooked under the wax seal before she ripped it open and began reading..

A scoff escaped her halfway through the tenth or so letter she'd read. She couldn't believe what she was reading, even if the words were right there in front of her, clasped between her own hands. The Jarl Hrongar of Whiterun had officially invited the two of them to his wedding in a fortnight. He was marrying Carlotta of Whiterun, his brother's former mistress. Didn't anyone marry for love anymore? Was what her parents had a novelty? Even now, six weeks into her own marriage, she didn't understand the appeal. No part of what she'd come in to was worth it aside from defeating the World Eater. 

"Find something interesting?" Ulfric asked and Arielle pursed her lips before one of her hands brought the letter onto the top of the unimportant pile with an audible slap. "Hardly. Hrongar invited us to his wedding." she told him before reaching for the next letter in the pile. It only just occured to her, that there was the very real possibility of Ulfric having his own mistress. A frown came to her face at that realization. Of course, Ulfric had maintained the façade of a happy couple toward the people of Windhelm and beyond. So, she could only hope that the very same courtesy would extend to their children. She wasn't sure she could face that kind of humiliation if they knew, or gods forbid, saw the woman.

"I thought you were fond of Hrongar," Ulfric said, his curiosity apparent in his tone. She kept her eyes planted on the new letter in front of herself. It was a request for more soldiers along Falkreath's southern border. That one went to the important pile, keeping the southern border of Skyrim well manned was imperative to their victory in this war. They could not give the Empire the chance to cross into Stormcloak territory. 

"He's marrying his brother's mistress," she said, mentally wondering if the distaste in her tone was as audible as she thought it was. Remembering how she'd seen the auburn-haired Nord sneaking about the palace more than once on her way to and from the Jarl's chambers. And to think that man had the nerve to ask her hand in marriage. Of course, it mattered little now, as she sat in another's Jarl's palace as his wife. Gods, they really were all the same.. 

"He must be desperate for heirs," Ulfric said and she hummed but said nothing else as she ripped the seal open of the next letter..

Sometime later, when Jorleif popped in to inform them that it was time for dinner, Ulfric escorted her to the dining room. Immediately upon crossing the threshold, they were greeted by bright candlelight. No surface had been spared from it's own flame and festive garlands decorated the walls and tables. Multiple tables had been set up, in a similar fashion to their wedding and most were already occupied by the more well-off citizens of Windhelm. Rona had informed her of the feast a week prior so she knew there would be a large number of people in the hall. Of course, expecting it and experiencing it are two completely different things and she felt her pulse begin to quicken at the sight of the many eyes that suddenly fell upon her. 

Ulfric led her to a table that faced the others where she sat to his right. With Galmar and Lydia already sitting in their respective seats on either side of them, it was all too reminiscent of their wedding. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the intricately woven braids throughout Lydia's brown hair. "You look nice," Arielle said quietly for privacy's sake. Lydia snorted a laugh before bringing her goblet to her lips. 

"Rona's doing," she said between drinks. 

Under normal circumstances, Arielle might have shot her a small smile. Instead, she focused her attention on her own goblet, drinking deeply and enjoying the taste of the honeyed brew she'd been served. The castle's bard, an auburn haired woman who's name she'd learned to be Inga, softly plucked the delicate strings of her lute. She was joined by two others, both of them brandishing their own instruments, a drum and another lute. The trio worked together to fill the large hall with a festive tune. It worked well enough, she could see the many smiling faces that looked back at her. Everyone seemed excited for this new year to come. Even the castle's recluse of a court wizard, Wuunferth, swept into the hall for a plate of food. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that particular man. She'd only had a few run-ins with him since the majority of his time was spent holed up in his laboratory. Last Arielle heard, he was working on concocting super combustible fire salts to cover catapult ammunition. She could only hope that he didn't bring the castle down on them in the process. 

"You're tense," Ulfric observed while the prongs of her fork picked at a rather soft piece of potato that she'd already split into about six or so pieces. One thing she had yet to get used to, was Ulfric's observant nature. In all their weeks spent together, he'd familiarized himself with her different moods, questioning them whenever he could. The very opposite was what she'd come to appreciate about Lydia. The woman could tell whenever she didn't want to talk about something and let it be. Ulfric granted no such favors. 

"They're all staring at me," she said plainly, keeping her face as expressionless as possible, "Of course I'm tense." 

He snorted a laugh beside her and her eyes followed his goblet as he brought it to his lips. "Would it be helpful to know that they adore you?" he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement at her sudden discomfort. 

She met his eyes, giving him a slight shake of her head before she responded. "Definitely not," she said, her tension apparent in the quickness of her reply. 

"I'm sure they would love it if we danced," he said, all too casually and her eyes widened, her blood running cold when she realized that he was not jesting, but genuinely suggesting they dance for the enjoyment of their many guests. For a moment she was stunned by the surprise of his suggestion. They hadn't danced at their wedding, she didn't even think the Jarl knew how to dance, her mind vehemently refusing to conjure up such an image. And he was so much larger than her, they would look entirely ridiculous, she was sure. 

"Shall we?" he asked, standing from his chair and holding his hand out, palm up while he waited for her own. 

"I do not think I could keep up with your stride," she said immediately, to which the Jarl shot her a rather unimpressed look. His hand did not waver and she realized that he was not giving her an option to refuse. "Oh gods," she breathed, quickly downing the rest of her drink before placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet. As he led her to the open side of the room where a few other diners had already began dancing to the festive music, she couldn't help but frown as she was once again reminded of how little her thoughts and feelings mattered, how little she mattered. 

Her frown stayed in place, despite her efforts to remove it when his free hand landed on the small of her back, pulling her closer til hers found a comfortable position on the upper part of his linen covered bicep. He raised their clasped hands before leading them flawlessly into a dance. In a desperate attempt to think about anything but the many eyes that followed them as they spun in elegant circles across the floor, her own eyes landed on the amulet of Talos that still decorated the Jarl's neck. Her father's amulet. She was surprised he still wore it but she mentally chocked it up to one more thing he did to keep their illusion of a happy marriage alive. 

Her mind couldn't help but to conjure up the happy memories of herself dancing with her parents back in Helgen. How she would laugh and smile while they danced the many nights of Saturalia and New Life away, a stark contrast to the frown she now worked to keep off her face as she danced with her husband. She only hoped she could instill some type of happiness in their children before he would no doubt put them to training. 

"You dance beautifully," he said, breaking her out of her thoughts and pulling her closer as they continued to spin, the hem of the skirt of her dress floating wildly over the stone floor in it's desperate attempt to keep up with her fluid movements. A quick glance spared at their table and Arielle realized that her seat was no longer empty but occupied by none other than Galmar. He was speaking to Lydia, who's eyes were trained forward but unmistakable was the blush painted across her cheeks before she brought her goblet to her lips. An exhaled laugh tore her attention away from the pair and she looked up to meet the Jarl's eyes that were looking back at her with a type of mirth. "I do believe our housecarls are smitten," he said and her frown deepened. 

He scoffed. "Does that really displease you?" he asked and her eyes dropped back to the amulet around his neck. It didn't, she supposed. If anything she was glad of the possibility of Lydia finding some semblance of happiness. The woman had after all, walked willingly into this life beside her, despite being released from service. And after faithfully traipsing across Skyrim for over a year while Arielle pursued the World Eater, she was certainly entitled to whatever happiness she could manage to find. 

"It doesn't," she said, without meeting his eyes, "As long as he is.. honorable, in his intentions." Because she deserved that, at the very least. 

Ulfric hummed in response while they continued to spin in elegant circles. The music and merriment around them had grown louder and the floor had become littered by more eager couples dancing around them. Though her eyes could focus on none of them due to how quickly their feet moved with the music. So quickly, that she soon found herself dizzy from the world spinning around them, the Jarl's hands the only thing keeping her rooted in the reality of the feast around them. He pulled her closer, til she was nearly pressed against the steel of his chestplate and forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes. 

His icy irises were intense as he stared back at her and having been with him as long as she had, she now recognized the look he was giving her. He wanted her, wanted her body and she hated her own body's reaction to that look. Hated the way the blood pooled in her cheeks in a heavy blush and the flicker of a flame coming to life deep in the pit of her belly. But for all the hatred she felt, there still existed that part of her, deep in her mind that was elated by the promises of pleasure that came with such a look. The smallest of smiles stretched his face at her reaction, he knew. He always knew. 

As the latest song came to a close and no sooner had Arielle and Ulfric come up from their bows, did he scoop her off her feet in what she could only assume was a show of his manliness. She had no choice but to cling to the fur cloak around his neck and shoulders as he carried her effortlessly out of the dining hall that had erupted with coos and cheers at the Jarl's sudden display of eager affection. Though her mind had already forgotten it, the sound fading to the back of her mind as Ulfric carried her away from their noble guests and up the stone stairs to the second floor of the palace. 

She kept her eyes forward as the cold steel of his chestplate seeped through her dress, chilling her skin and when they rounded the corner of the upstairs hallway, the door to their bedroom coming into view, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the shameful eagerness of the night to come.


	12. Creation

Ulfric groaned. A deep, throaty rumble that lightly echoed around them in the quiet room as he made his irritation known. "By the gods, if you don't stop.." he warned sleepily, his voice hoarse from disuse, though it did nothing to deter Arielle from pursuing her goal of warmth. Only mere seconds passed before she once again pressed her icy feet against the burning heat of his legs, eliciting another surprised hiss from the man beside her. "Arielle.." 

"It's cold," she mumbled, as if the frozen state of her feet hadn't made that blatantly obvious. The fire had died down to mere embers, no longer offering it's warmth and despite the thick fur blanket on top of her, the room had become cold enough to wake her. With another groan he tossed the fur off himself and rose from the bed. Arielle's eyes cracked open enough to spare a tired glance toward the window as Ulfric rounded the large bed in nothing but a linen tunic and she could see the sky just beginning to lighten. It was around this time when Ulfric usually started his day so she greedily moved over to his side of the bed, trying to soak up the leftover warmth while he quietly went about the room. With a tired yawn and the lingering heat enveloping her, she began drifting back to sleep. 

She was pulled from that half-slumber moments later, startled awake by Ulfric joining her under the fur blanket from her side of the bed. Her eyes opened in time to see him scoot closer, his features now distinguishable in the soft orange glow that bathed the room and she realized that he'd fed logs to the fireplace to bring the fire back to life. He pulled her closer before nearly covering her small body with his own, much larger one and she clung to the Nordic heat that enveloped her, heaving a contented sigh as her eyes fell closed once more. The sounds of their combined breathing and the crackling fire quickly lulled her back to sleep. 

When next her eyes opened, she could immediately tell how late it was by the bright, natural light seeping into the room from the window. She was alone in the room, but that was nothing new, she often woke by herself. Though her eyes did spot the silver platter of food sitting on the table, waiting for her and her stomach immediately made it's yearning known, growling almost angrily at the sight of the spread. She sat up, stretching her arms as she did and wrapped the thick fur blanket tightly around herself as she made her way over to the table, plopping down quite unceremoniously into one of the chairs. 

The sweetroll was still warm inside, she discovered when she greedily tore the flaky pastry open and shoved one of the icing covered bits into her mouth, entirely ignoring the fancy silver cutlery as she did. One of the books she'd borrowed from the library, a book on lost legends, was sitting on the table and she flipped it open to the page she'd previously dog-eared and picked up where she left off the night before. Suddenly feeling ill, she was forced to retire to her room early in the evening. Thankfully, aside from a rather acute bout of exhaustion, nothing had come from it. She mentally chocked it up to the lengthy feast two days prior.

Arielle quickly learned that the city of Windhelm would throw a feast for just about anything to do with Nordic Culture. It had only been two weeks since the New Life festival finally ended and already they had another feast to honor Ysgramor's first five hundred companions on the thirteenth of Sun's Dawn. The 'Feast of the Dead' lasted well into the night and after drinking more than her fair share of wine and all the dancing she'd done with the Jarl, she was left thoroughly exhausted and that was before he even took her to bed. 

Feeling better for the time being, she lazily picked at the offered breakfast while she read her book. And when she finished her pastry and fruit, she was more than content to take her time dressing. She picked her favorite dress from the closet, a Stormcloak-blue one of thick velvet with a rounded neckline and adopted a simple hairstyle of pinning the top of her blonde tresses back, allowing the rest of her soft curls to hang freely to her waist. As she left the bedroom and made her way down the stone steps, her mind recalled it was well into the night when the Jarl joined her in bed the night prior. He'd left early in the morning, and how he managed to do so after the feast she wasn't sure, venturing with Galmar and a battalion of men to a Nordic ruin on the outskirts of Eastmarch to retrieve an ancient crown. Which was, just about the strangest use of his time as far as she was concerned but the Jarl was a stubborn man if she ever met one and once he decided he wanted something, he would do whatever needed to be done for him to obtain it. Though she didn't know whether his quick return was a sign of success or failure in his mission, but she was sure she would hear about it soon enough.

Soon enough came quicker than she thought it would when Ulfric called out to her as she passed the open door to the war room. She entered the room, approaching Ulfric's large desk though her attention was stolen by Galmar's hands as he leaned far over the war table to swap out a red flag for a blue one just inside the border of the Reach, the corner of his lips turned up in a rather triumphant smirk. The newest addition signified the second victory inside the Reach. The Stormcloaks were closing in on the hold's capitol Markarth and she was sure it was only a matter of time until the army marched on Solitude. Each victory, despite the many lives lost along the way, seemed to strengthen each soldiers resolve, making them even more hungry for the eradication of the Legion in Skyrim. The end was finally in sight, and they were practically starving for it. 

"I heard you were ill," Ulfric said, his deep voice interrupting her thoughts and stealing her attention from the map. He was regarding her with a look she couldn't quite decipher when she met his eyes. A small part of her mind wondered when exactly he'd heard, for he had not tried to lay with her when he returned from his quest, though that could of had more to do with his own exhaustion than hers. 

"I was tired," she said, waving a hand dismissively. 

"And now?" he pressed, catching her hand only to bring the back of her palm to his lips in a chaste kiss. Ignoring the slight tickling of the hairs of his goatee against her skin, she focused on how she felt. Aside from a slight bit of lingering exhaustion and a brewing headache, which she was sure she could make a potion for, she felt normal. 

"I'm fine," she told him, half wondering where the sudden bout of concern had stemmed from. Of course, now that she thought about it, it wouldn't do the Jarl any favors if she were to fall ill and see Sovngarde before she could give him his heirs. 

Seemingly satisfied by her response, he hummed, releasing her hand and her eyes strayed to the small table behind him. That's where she saw it, the crown Ulfric had gone to fetch and she could not stop the deep frown that came to her face at the sight of it. The Jarl must have caught her expression because he called her name, but she was already moving away from him, toward the table with a deep crease set in her brow, her frown deepening with each step that brought her closer to the crown. 

She wasn't sure what the Jagged Crown would look like, but she knew what sat in front of her was nothing her mind could have conjured on it's own without seeing it first. It was a helmet of steel, but adorned in the teeth of dragons, arranged in a circle to look like spikes on a crown. It was.. about as Nordic as a crown could get, she supposed. Plenty of Nordic warriors she'd met in her journey had adorned themselves in bone jewelry but the sight of the teeth of her kin did fill her with a type of sadness. Suddenly Ulfric was beside her, a wall of steel, wool and fur to her left while one of her hands reached out, the tip of her finger stroking the point of a tooth. The crown was old, the teeth coming from no dragon she'd ever known but that realization did nothing to budge her frown. And she couldn't help but wonder, what would happen to her own body when she died? 

The thing was heavy, very heavy she discovered when she picked it up with both hands to examine it closer. She couldn't imagine wearing the thing for any length of time, but Ulfric was a strong man, he would have no trouble wielding the helmet, she was sure. "What are your thoughts of it?" he asked, attempting to break the silence when she still hadn't said anything. She placed the Jagged Crown back on the table, being careful of it's weight before she reluctantly turned to face his curious expression with her frown still firmly in place. 

"I'm thinking.. I would like to be burned, if for no other reason than to prevent someone from making a crown out of me," she said before sweeping past him, the smooth velvet of the skirt of her gown trailing behind her as she left the war room. Lydia was waiting outside the door and followed her, the pair quickly making their way to the library. 

"Would you wear a helmet made of dragons?" she asked her companion as she sat in the chair at her desk, pulling the cork off a small red potion bottle and downing the herby contents, making a face as she swallowed the viscous mixture. With her recent bouts of headaches, she'd gone through more than a few potions lately and she was more than glad she had the skill to help herself. 

"I would if I killed it myself," said Lydia as she browsed the many tomes at the closest bookshelf. Arielle hummed while she flipped the Book of the Dragonborn open to the page she'd left off the day before. 

"That's a good answer," she said, dipping her quill pen in a bit of ink and resuming the task of adding her own thoughts and facts she knew to be true to the tome mostly filled with conjecture. It was only one book of many, but she thought to leave behind at least some semblance of what she was, and what she was not. 

"But a crown is different," she said, earning Arielle's attention. Her hand stilled against the page and she watched Lydia continue her search for literary entertainment. 

"How so?"

Lydia smirked. "Well, I can't imagine High King Harald created that crown by simply plucking the teeth off a dead dragon he stumbled upon in the wilds. Not if he were a true Nord anyway," she paused, shooting Arielle a playful smile before she continued, "But crowns get passed down through succession. Just because Ulfric didn't kill the dragon himself, doesn't mean he's no right to wear it if he's named king." 

Arielle sighed, knowing Lydia was right. As much as she hated the idea of staring at a crown made of a dragon's teeth for the rest of her days, she knew he had every right to wear it if the moot declared him king. Her lips parted, but before she could thank the woman for her honesty, they were interrupted by the door to the library opening and she looked over to see the Jarl taking up the majority of the doorway. 

"Leave us," he said to Lydia who complied, making her way out of the room and closing the door behind her as she did. He carefully approached her where she sat at her desk, til he towered over her and she was forced to crane her neck uncomfortably to meet his icy blue eyes. "You're upset," he said assuredly and she pressed her lips into a firm line before she responded. 

"I'm not upset," she said after a moment, sure that her words were true after her talk with Lydia.

"I do not appreciate being lied to, Arielle," he warned, in that deep voice of his and she sighed, tearing her eyes away from his expectant expression to land on the still open book in front of herself, her personal notes hastily scribbled in each of the inner and outer margins. 

"I'm not upset," she reiterated, tapping the tip of an index finger against the desk. "I'm just.. uncomfortable with parts of one of my kin being used as a decoration. I understand it.. I just don't like it." He hummed, but said nothing as he considered her response. One of his hands caught her attention as it strayed to two books -'Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls' and 'Effects of the Elder Scrolls'- that were stacked on the corner of her desk. 

"These are yours.." he said, more to himself than anything else as he lifted the top book to examine the one beneath it. She looked over in time to catch the expression of almost concern flicker across his face. "You sought out an Elder Scroll?" 

"I had to. It was necessary to learn the Dragonrend shout. Without it, I could not have defeated Alduin," she said.

"Where did you find a moth priest in Skyrim?" he asked, briefly catching her off guard with his historical knowledge. He looked back at her, meeting her deep blue eyes and she shook her head. 

"I didn't," she told him, her eyes dropping to the desk while she remembered the vision she was granted at the Throat of the World. The sight of Alduin ripping apart her predecessors was not a pleasant one, and one she vehemently wished she could forget. 

She was torn from the memory by the warmth of his fingers tracing the length of her jaw, nearly startling her with his sudden display of affection, "What happened to you?" 

"Temporary blindness," she said with a frown, "I'm not mad, as far as I can tell. I suppose that makes me.. lucky." Yes, definitely lucky. For she had seen what happened to Septimus Signus. His mind was sundered, his sanity snapped, leaving him but a shell of the man he used to be from the mere glimpse he spared at the contents inside of an Elder Scroll. 

"Blessed," Ulfric corrected, "By the gods themselves." And she did not miss the trace of adoration in his tone. His religious tendencies never failed to surprise her and though she was raised to see the gods as benevolent, she could not bring herself to agree with his sentiment. For the past year had brought only pain to her heart and burdens to bear, her memories of happier times the only thing that kept her going. Somehow she held out, all the while praying that the gods would take pity, that they might grant her respite from all she'd suffered, but so far she'd been granted no such kindness. 

Anger welled deeply inside her at his words. "Blessed?" she repeated, her tone laced with irritation before letting out a sardonic laugh. "Don't you mean cursed? What have the gods ever done for me aside from bring me misery and suffering in exchange for doing their bidding?" she said with a bitter snap, rising up from her seat at the desk and marching angrily toward the door, her hands clenched in tight fists at her sides. 

Though she must have gotten up too quickly, for she only made it a few paces before an abrupt dizziness settled over her mind. Dark spots flickered across her vision while the room around her seemed to be tilting and tipping with her dizziness and her body suddenly felt much heavier than it had before. Part of her mind registered her name being called as her pace significantly slowed, but the voice sounded far away, as if she were under water. She made it to the door, only for her vision to darken further til her consciousness slipped away, her eyes closing to the sight of the stone floor rushing to greet her face. 

A tingly feeling pulled her from slumber, closely followed by a dull pain radiating across the side of her head. With a groan, she opened her eyes to a bright, white light. A healing spell, she realized after a few seconds of consciousness. The glow was too bright and she allowed her eyes to close as the pain in her head lessened with each second that passed. When the pain was gone and the tingle of healing faded, she opened her eyes once more and blinked a few times to get her bearings. She was in her bed again, with the faces of Windhelm's healer and midwife staring back at her. 

By order of the Jarl, a thorough examination was done to discover the cause of Arielle's fainting spell. Though, the cause was no great mystery, the reason for her sudden exhaustion and headaches as well were revealed when the aging midwife questioned the date of her last menses. Truthfully, Arielle had not bled since before she was wed to the Jarl, but that was nothing new for her. The stress alone in the past year had her cycle taking on quite the irregular pattern. She assumed, since her stress had not yet waned with her recent marriage to the Jarl, that it was only keeping up with that particularly unpredictable schedule. 

Arielle stopped listening to the two women once it came to light that she was with child. Rather, she opted to retreat inside of her mind, ignoring what was going on around her in order to process this new revelation. She expected it would happen, especially with how committed Ulfric had been to the task. But expecting it to happen, and it actually happening were.. so different. One of her hands moved to her abdomen of it's own accord and she was suddenly awash with fears of the unknown. A gentle touch of fingertips pressing against her temple, snapped her out of her intrusive thoughts and her eyes found the familiar hazel ones of the healer. "Does that hurt?" she asked and Arielle shook her head, earning a smile from the Nord. 

For privacy's sake, and since she was no longer needed now that her head had been healed of the cut she suffered during her fall, Sonja left. Leaving only Arielle and the midwife, Doria, who was busying herself by the fireplace, heating a kettle of what Arielle assumed was tea. She watched the woman add herb after herb from her satchel before leaving them to steep for a few moments. She sat up in her shared bed, moving the pillow to the headboard before leaning against it. No sooner had she found a comfortable position did the aging midwife return, offering a mug of the freshly brewed tea. She accepted it with both hands, but concern of her fainting spell had her reluctant to drink. "I fell," she said, her voice wavering with shame, "Did I hurt it?"

The midwife pat Arielle's wrist in a gesture of comfort, a reassuring smile on her face, "I'm told, aside from your head you fell on a rug. I've seen hundreds of babes into this world and yours is far too small yet to be hurt by a little tumble." She breathed a sigh of relief at that and drank the offered tea while the midwife unloaded a mountain of information on her. Everything from foods and alchemical ingredients to avoid to activities to abstain from. Sex was still allowed, to her great displeasure. Though, she wondered how her pregnancy would affect the current circumstances between her and the Jarl. Perhaps, now that she was with child, he would not want to lay with her again. 

After leaving a written copy of the information she was given on the bedside table, Arielle watched the midwife leave the bedroom, her long grey braid swaying behind her as she set out, determined to educate the kitchen staff about what Arielle should and should not consume. Once alone, she sat up in her bed, letting her feet hang over the side to touch the top step of the dais while one of her hands gravitated back to her abdomen. Aside from fearing the ramifications of this newest development, she was surprised that she didn't feel any different. She thought when she was with child that she would feel something, a sort of connection. But she didn't, she felt the same and a small part of her mind questioned the midwife's diagnosis. 

Wanting, no- needing confirmation of her pregnancy, she left her now empty mug on the bedside table and rose from her place on the bed, being mindful to not move too quickly lest she become dizzy again and made her way over to the large vanity beside the fireplace. Once there, her lips parted for a shout to escape from her throat. It was softer than most, a raspy whisper that veiled her vision with glowing dots of red in the distance, detecting the life force of those around her. She could see the retreating glow of the midwife as well as another glow fastly approaching. Her eyes went to herself in the mirror, glowing red swirled deep in her chest, the seat of her soul. Then, much lower, in the pit of her belly she spied it, the smallest flicker of life growing inside herself. 

The realness of her pregnancy hit her then, nearly overwhelming her with a sense of responsibility and foreboding. A feeling reminiscent of having the fate of the world thrust into her hands. Except this time, it seemed only her world was at stake. That soft red glow somehow suddenly seemed more precious than her own life and that realization struck a type of fear in her she hadn't felt in the longest time. 

The door opened, catching her attention as the glow faded away and she looked over to see the Jarl approaching her while wearing the closest thing she'd ever seen to a genuine smile on his face. "Better news could not have come this day," he said when he reached her, his thick fingers brushed her hair away from the side of her head to examine it and she could not stop the frown that came to her face at his touch, every part of her mind telling her to seclude herself from others, to protect the precious life inside her. "How are you feeling?" he asked her while his eyes studied her hesitant expression before dropping to where both of her hands rest on the blue velvet dress covering her abdomen. 

He covered her hands with one of his own, much larger ones while she considered his sudden interest in her pregnancy. Of course, now that she thought about it, why shouldn't he be? Her intended purpose was finally fulfilled, an heir to Windhelm's throne would be born before year's end. But she could not think about what this would mean for Windhelm, she could not think about anything beyond her ascendancy to motherhood. "Overwhelmed," she told him honestly, watching his face as he marveled at her abdomen that had yet to show an ounce of change. 

"To be expected, I'm sure," he said confidently, "Jorleif is handling the announcement as we speak and Galmar is arranging the hunt." 

Her expression morphed into one of confusion, "Hunt?" 

"It's tradition for the father-to-be to celebrate with a hunt. The bear we kill will be made into our son's first blanket," he explained while his free hand threaded itself through the soft curls at the base of her neck. She wasn't sure how to respond to that. Under normal circumstances she might crack a smile at the twisted tradition of a Nord celebrating new life by ending another, but she hadn't known normal in a very long time and she was still coming to grips with her newfound responsibility. 

"I want you to be comfortable," he said, his deep voice snapping her out of her straying thoughts while his hand left her abdomen to pull her closer, til she was forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes, "And if there's anything you need, if it's within my power, you need but name it and it's yours." With that said, he released her hair, only for his thumb to stroke the length of her jaw. "For now, you should rest." he said before leaning down to press his lips against her forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Then he was retreating and she watched him as he left the room, leaving her stunned and wearing an expression of utter bewilderment from his over affection. But her thoughts would not dwell on the Jarl of Windhelm for long, her attention was soon focused on the new life beneath her hands. And as she gazed at her abdomen in the mirror she realized, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she had something to hope for. 


	13. Scars

Arielle was sitting at the table in her bedroom, mindlessly picking at a small bowl of fruit while Rona worked diligently to untangle and braid her hair into something more acceptable than what currently resembled a robin's nest.

Mid-morning light was pouring through the window, brightening the room with natural light and though the glass of the window was opaque, she could still see the thick clumps of snow that the sky was currently dumping on Windhelm. Not exactly what she would consider hunting weather, but it seemed that the Jarl and his housecarl did not mirror the sentiment. They'd left the castle grounds long before she woke for the day.

Lydia was sitting in the chair opposite her at the table and twirling the stem of a red mountain flower between her fingers, her face going through a series of emotions -ranging from irritation to awe- the longer she stared at it.

"At least yours was intact," Arielle said when the woman's expression turned sour again, her tone bitter as she worked to keep her eyes off the rather obnoxious sight she'd woken up to in her shared bed. Any thoughts she may have had about the Jarl no longer wanting her went straight out the window when he joined her in bed. If anything, he seemed almost more eager than before, as if her being with child so quickly had proven his virility and thoroughly stroked his ego. That's not to say she didn't enjoy it. Because, much to her shameful disappointment, she had. It was more or less the state of her blanket upon waking that had her mood thoroughly soured. The petals of what had to be at least a hundred red mountain flowers, distinguishable by their rich, deep red color were scattered across the fur blanket and the dais surrounding the bed.

Her first thought about it questioned whether or not she was actually awake. But sure enough, upon gathering a handful of the petals and feeling their silky texture between her fingers, she realized that she was, quite unfortunately awake. Heart's Day or not, it was an extravagant display and she pitied whichever servant had been tasked with dumping it all on her as she slept. She would have much rather had the single flower that Lydia had woken up to. But the Jarl of Windhelm was never known for subtlety. And she was sure, it was only a matter of time until he revealed yet another weighty piece of jewelry for her to wear.

Lydia exhaled a laugh at that. "You know.. in comparison to yours, it really doesn't seem so bad," she teased and Arielle pursed her lips before giving her housecarl the most unimpressed look she could muster.

As a girl, Arielle imagined many scenarios for celebrating Heart's Day with a lover. But not once did she picture the complete waste of perfectly good alchemical ingredients that she'd woken up to. "Very funny," she quipped dryly, her lingering irritation bleeding heavily into her tone.

"Don't you think it's romantic?" Rona asked from behind her and it took everything in her not to roll her eyes.

"I think it's.. excessive."

"He's excited for the child. It'll wane," said Lydia, turning her attention back to the red blossom between her fingers. Arielle frowned, thoroughly unconvinced by that before bringing her mug of what was now lukewarm tea to her lips. Her mind was still reeling from the most recent development, her unborn babe occupying the majority of her thoughts in the day since it's discovery. And that urge to seclude herself was still very prominent in her mind, so much so that she hadn't left her shared bedroom at all in the last day. Not that it did anything to keep people away, or from Ulfric delivering unnecessary displays of affection. No, she was sure that her feelings mattered just as little as they always had. 

"And what of Galmar?" she asked, if for no other reason than to keep her thoughts from straying deeper into a pit she was sure wouldn't be easy to climb out of.

Lydia exhaled a laugh across from her. "Well, I'd still like to throttle him, if that's what you're asking," she said, dropping the flower to the table top to bring a goblet of wine to her lips and Arielle did not miss the light pink blush that littered her cheeks.

"That sounds like a blossoming Nordic relationship," Arielle said, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from turning up as she looked over in time to catch the woman's dry look, clearly not keen to have the tide of teasing turned on herself.

"He's a persistent man, I'll give him that," Lydia said, and Arielle knew, if her housecarl did bring herself to accept Galmar's advances, it would be her and not him that wore the metaphorical armour in that relationship.

"All finished," Rona announced excitedly after placing the sapphire circlet on top of Arielle's freshly braided hair. No longer interested in picking at the offered fruit, she thanked the woman before leaving the table and crossing the room to her vanity. The heat emanating from the nearby fireplace seeped through her dress almost immediately, warming her thoroughly as she regarded herself in the large mirror. Rona had done a beautiful job, tiny intricate braids were neatly woven into one large one with the length secured by a single silver cuff, a stark contrast to the tangled mess she'd started the day with. A small smile came to her face when she looked behind herself in the mirror to see Rona already digging her skilled fingers into Lydia's brown locks before turning her attention to one of the glass bottles of scented oils she'd brewed in the library-turned-office. She removed the lid to wipe the dipstick across each of her wrists, applying a generous amount of the lavender oil there before mimicking the same motion on either side of her neck.

Her eyes wandered back to the hundreds of flower petals on her bed, her lips pursing in disdain and she heaved a heavy sigh as she stared at the ridiculous display. Aside from being unnecessary, she just couldn't let such an abundance of alchemical ingredients go to waste. Court had been canceled due to the holiday, leaving Arielle with an unexpected gap of free time and with a steady stream of injured soldiers returning home, she knew the healer Sonja would need all the extra help she could get.

A moment later and she was at the bed, scooping up handfuls of the petals to take back to her alchemy station for drying. "I can clean that up, my lady!" Rona said, her voice hitched in panic so unexpected that Arielle's hands stilled. She looked over to see the woman's fearful expression and Ulfric's words the previous day appeared in her mind. He wanted her to be _comfortable_ and a deep frown came to her face as she wondered exactly what kind of orders -or threats- the staff had received to ensure her comfort was achieved. She knew all too well what the Jarl was like when he was angry and she could only imagine the repercussions he would unleash on the staff if he became displeased.

"I'm not cleaning," she said quickly, hoping to assure her, "I'm taking some of these to dry out." She looked unconvinced but relented anyway, leaving Arielle to her task while she continued to braid Lydia's hair. And by the time the top of the woman's hair had been braided into an intricate crown of brunette hair, Arielle had gathered a sizeable pile of petals and the two women made their way to the library.

It was several productive hours, and a couple dozen potions later when Arielle made her way to the dining room with Lydia in tow. The pair stepped through the open doorway with little ceremony, their entry going unnoticed at first, despite the handful of officers that filled the far end of the table. Her eyes found Ulfric standing at a liquor cart, his blonde braids looking slightly disheveled, presumably from his hunt and pouring himself a rather generous serving of an amber colored liquid that very much resembled a drink that once had her face scrunching from the burn it caused her throat as she swallowed.

The Jarl was deep in conversation with his housecarl and steward, though unmistakable was the look of disinterest on his face. "...not worried about a ship," she heard him say. He paused long enough to exhale a laugh and bring the clear glass to his lips, throwing back the full amount he'd poured. Just thinking about the taste of the vile liquid had her stomach rolling with nausea. "They wont dare touch shores on this side of Skyrim and if they do, they will be met with steel."

Jorleif let out an incredulous huff, looking as flushed and breathless as he ever had, "My Lord, I must urge you to reconsider. An Imperial vessel this close to Windhelm- it's too dangerous. If they decide to march-"

"Hogwash," Galmar spoke up from beside the Jarl, his gravelly voice even more rough from his irritation, "they're only scouting. If we diverge forces chasing some ship, it'll weaken our manpower elsewhere and that's what they bloody want."

"Galmar is right. Let them have their look," Ulfric said, pouring himself another generous drink. Arielle was halfway to the table that was set with fine china when the Jarl called out to her. She approached him, her eyes only now taking in the absence of his cloak and the shredded state of the linen shirt covering his bicep. Thick bandages covered his arm beneath his shirt but she could see the blood seeping through them. A look of confusion crossed her face at the sight. He knew she was skilled in healing, if he was injured why hadn't he just asked her to heal it? 

"What happened?" she asked, gesturing to his bicep only for the corner of his mouth to turn up in a wry smile.

"Snow cat. Our son will have his first blanket.. and rug," he said with no small amount of amusement in his tone. Of course, leave it to a Nord to find amusement in being mauled by a wild animal. "Read this," he said, holding a letter out for her. The red seal was already broken and she did not recognize the symbol pressed into the thick wax. Still, she did as asked and read the letter. Her lips parted from surprise when she realized it was from High Rock. The High King was offering an alliance, so long as the Stormcloaks managed to take all of Skyrim. She looked back at Ulfric in time to catch the look of satisfaction of his face and in his eyes. Though whether it was from her reaction or the letter itself, she wasn't sure. "It seems our neighbors fully support the idea of a half-Breton queen," he said and just like that, a deep frown came to her face and she passed the parchment back to him.

"Bout time they came around," Galmar drawled, earning the Jarl's attention. She didn't hear his response to that. Instead, her eyes migrated back to the wound on his arm. The thick wrappings heavily stained in blood. She doubted he was in any danger of dying, but surely the man was in pain and it just seemed so ridiculous that he would allow it to fester when she was all too capable of healing it, and quite easily at that. Irritation welled in her at the ridiculousness of it before she raised her hand to his arm, already coming alive in the soft glow of a healing spell while her free hand pulled at the wrappings to unearth the wound.

The next thing Arielle registered was the intense pain erupting in her wrist. It happened so fast it took several seconds for her mind to catch up to the fact that Ulfric was the cause of it. His large hand held her much smaller wrist in a vice grip, the delicate fabric of her dress' sleeve offering absolutely no protection from his grip that was so tight, she wondered if her bones might snap from the pressure. A look of pain crossed her face and her eyes went to the Jarl's ones that were narrowed into a harsh glare and he was fixing her with a look of rage, the likes of which she'd never seen before. "Do not do that again," he seethed, his already deep voice much lower in his warning before he released her. Her free hand clasped around her aching wrist, holding it tightly to her chest as if to shield it from further abuse while her mind raced through the many emotions that welled in her. Hurt, fear, shame.. but the strongest of all, was anger.

With each second that passed in the now dead-silent room, she grew ever more angry. "My touch offends you?" she asked incredulously, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he'd hurt her, again, when all she was doing was trying to help him. _"Mine?!"_ she repeated, her tone laced with as much venom as she could muster, "You struck me and I did not deny _your_ touch." His jaw went tight at that, and though she knew there would be punishment for this outburst, she was far too angry to care.

A small part of her mind registered Jorleif harshly whispering to the others already seated at the table behind her, ushering them out of the room as quickly as he could. But those thoughts were forced out of her mind by the burning rage she felt deep in her chest and she kept her angry eyes fixed on the Jarl. "You deflowered me in front of your men!" she spat, punctuating her words with a sharp jab of her index finger toward Galmar who was still standing but a few paces away, "..and I did not deny _your_ touch."

She exhaled a laugh though there was no humor behind it before shaking her head in disbelief. "You force my body to feel things that I never asked to feel.. and I still do not deny your touch. But it is _mine_ that somehow offends you?" He said nothing, only continued to stare at her with that same hardened look of irritation on his face. An exasperated exhale left her as she realized her anger was in vain. Everything she did was in vain. He didn't give a damn about anyone but himself, least of all her, and never would.

"Keep your precious wound, Ulfric. I hope it scars," she spat and with a final shake of her head, she turned from him and swept out of the room, all the while cursing her own foolishness. For what on Nirn was she thinking, trying to heal him? Her anger took her upstairs but she did not return to her shared bedroom. Instead she made her way to the now empty guest wing and once there, she pushed a familiar door open to be greeted by the coldness of a dark room. It was a room she had not seen the inside of for two months now, her very first one in the castle. 

With the help of a mage light, she crossed the room to the fireplace and considered herself lucky to find wood there. Her anger was dissipating more and more with each second that passed, only to be replaced by a deep sadness. And once the fire was burning brightly with the help of another spell, this time one of fire, she let her sadness lead her to the bed. Once sitting on the soft mattress she pulled the sleeve of her dress back and a deep frown came to her face at the sight of the bruises forming there. She shouldn't be surprised that he hurt her again and she wasn't, not really. She was well versed in just how beastly he could be, but she would be lying if she said she didn't think her being with child would urge him some measure of restraint. Involuntary tears welled in her eyes and her mind couldn't help but question, what else would he do to her?

It was well into the night when the door to the guest bedroom opened. She knew it was late because there was no longer any hint of light coming in through the lone window, the sun having gone down a while ago now. The sound of steel boots connecting with thick rugs reached her ears. Ulfric, her mind assumed because he had yet to announce himself. He approached the bed where she lay facing the stone wall and although her tears had run dry, her eyes still stung from the puffiness that came with crying.

"Arielle," he said, confirming her suspicions it was him when his voice cut through the mostly quiet room. The fire burned brightly, generously bathing the room in soft light and heavy warmth and while she could not detect an ounce of his earlier irritation in his tone, she had no desire to look or speak to him. "Arielle," he said again, trying to rouse her. A long moment passed and when she still did not move, he sighed heavily before she heard the very distinguishable sound of him unbuckling his chestplate.

That caught her attention well enough and she rolled to her back, scrambling to sit up as a panic shot through her when her mind recalled their first night together. Was that what he had come to do? Had he come to hurt her again? "What are you doing?" she asked, her panic bleeding into her tone. He ignored her, un-phased by her outburst and removed the chestplate, discarding it at the foot of the bed. "Ulfric-"

"Calm yourself," he said, with little emotion in his deep voice, his hands already working on the straps of his bracers. A dejected expression crossed her face and she dug her fingers into the fur blanket she sat on and steeled herself for what was about to happen, what she was sure would happen. "Your touch does not offend me. In fact, I would welcome it," he said after the first bracer landed on the blanket, quickly followed by the second and despite her best efforts to control herself, her muscles were strained in their tension from the fear her memories inspired. "Though I can't bring myself to allow your spell to touch my skin." He hesitated long enough for confusion to creep into her mind before he heaved a sigh and with little ceremony, his hands pulled his linen tunic up and over his head, baring the skin of his torso to her for the first time. She felt the blood drain from her face, her expression morphing into one of horror and the hand that clasped itself over her mouth did little to stop the sharp gasp that forced it's way past her lips at what she saw.

Her wide, shock-stricken eyes roamed every bit of his heavily muscled but marred and abused flesh. Scars of every size and shape littered his skin from the tops of his shoulders to the rim of his trousers and down each of his arms, leaving no inch of him unmarked. From large slashes that raked across his chest and abdomen to the smaller curved ones that filled in the gaps, it conjured a mental image of a spider's web, if the spider was high on skooma during the designing process. Each scar looked all too deliberate in it's placement and her stomach immediately rolled from the wave of nausea she was gifted by the sight of it and gods only knew what his back looked like. "Oh gods, what happened to you?" she asked around the hand that still hovered across her lips, her voice wavering as her mind tried to comprehend the unimaginable pain such injuries would cause.

Her eyes rose to his face, taking note of the tightness in his jaw til they reached his unreadable eyes. "I'm surprised a veteran's daughter hasn't heard of my capture in the Great War." Though she could not recall hearing that particular story from her father, her mind suddenly bloomed with the memory of a Thalmor embassy torture chamber. She remembered the horrific state she and the Blades had found a man named Etienne in, starved and beat half to death for information he didn't even have. She could only imagine the horrors they would inflict upon a prisoner of war. Even with the evidence in front of her, her mind could not begin to fathom such atrocities.

"Of course very few have seen the.. results of my interrogation by that bitch _Elenwen_ ," and he said her name with more venom than she'd ever heard in his voice. "Galmar, Wuunferth, Jorleif, a handful of prison guards in Markarth.. and now you." He sat on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to dip from the weight of him and unintentionally gifting her a glimpse of his back over his shoulder and she could see that it was just as scarred as his front, further proof of the horrors that Elenwen inflicted upon him. "This is why we're fighting this war. Because this is what the Thalmor does to anyone that dares to object to their twisted ideals of superiority."

She shook her head, at a loss for words from the evidence of his suffering and fought the tears that threatened to well in her eyes. "Elenwen did this? Gods.. Ulfric..-"

"I didn't ask for you to pity me," he said, causing a frown to come to her face.

"There's nothing wrong with pity," she told him, raising her eyes to his once more, her expression morphing into one of deep sadness, "Are you really that prideful?"

If her words offended him, he didn't show it. His face was as unreadable as ever while one of her hands reached out to his left shoulder. His watchful gaze followed the tips of her fingers that traced one of the more prominent scars there. It was curved in it's shape and rough beneath her fingers, the skin raised like it had trouble healing or reopened at some point. No creature alive deserved the kind of horrific suffering he'd been subjected to and she couldn't fathom how he managed to survive. Her eyes dropped to the blood stained wrappings covering his bicep and her frown deepened. If he wasn't going to let her heal it, she sought to at least make sure it would do so on it's own without festering. 

"Wuunferth has already treated it with a potion," he said when her small hands began working to unravel the thick bandaging.

"Wuunferth isn't a healer," she said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible as she continued to unwrap the wound til a series of gashes were exposed, claw marks running across his thick bicep. She was right about her earlier assumptions about it not being life-threatening, his chestplate had taken the brunt of the attack she was sure. But it was deep enough to require stitches for proper healing. "Stay here," she said, leaving the wrappings on the fur blanket beside him and crossing the room to the door. She opened it just far enough to poke her head out. A lone soldier stood guard at the end of the hallway and she called out to him, prattling off supplies she needed and he left, returning ten or so minutes later and she took the requested items, sending him back to his post before he could spare a glance inside the room.

She returned to the bed with her newly acquired supplies and laid them out, a bowl of water she had to reheat with a spell, a healing potion, a needle and thread and new dressings before she finally sat beside him on the mattress. Her hands dipped the hand towel in the bowl of steaming water, fully saturating it before wringing the excess moisture out and sliding the heated fabric across his wounded flesh. No part of him flinched, from the heat of the water nor the pressure in which she applied the towel. Instead, he was looking all too amused by her efforts but she did her best to ignore him, focusing her attention on cleaning the wounds as carefully as was possible considering the depths of them, part of her mind wondering if he even felt how deep they were. After all, these few claw marks were probably nothing in comparison to the rest of what he'd suffered through. Another part of her mind was preoccupied by sheer surprise of him actually allowing her to do this.

"If your intentions are to clean it.." he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet in the room like a prow through water. Her hands stilled and she looked up to see the corner of his mouth was still turned up in a look of amusement, "you'll need a much firmer touch."

She didn't respond, only dropped her eyes back to her work and continued to clean the wound. When she was satisfied with the way it looked and the water in the bowl turned pink, she gently parted his flesh to apply the potion as deeply as she could before allowing his skin to come together again. And then she was threading the needle, only hesitating when she brought it to his flesh. She'd done this before, more than a few times an injured soldier or villager would be brought to her home in Helgen if the small temple there was overfilled. Other times, her mother would call for her if she needed help setting bones but she'd lent a hand to stitching more than a few times.

It just felt.. wrong, to inflict more damage to his flesh after what he'd already suffered. She looked up and he was watching her closely, regarding her with a look she couldn't quite decipher but she knew she needed to get on with it before he changed his mind and the wound healed wrong, adding more scars to his abused skin. A deep breath invaded her lungs before she pressed the needle into his flesh. Again, he didn't react but he did exhale a laugh and that only served to confuse her.

"Your compassion is.. confounding," he said and she kept her eyes planted firmly on the needle she was using to weave his torn skin back together. "I've no doubt our children will be lucky to call you mother," A frown came to her face at that, memories of her own mother forcing themselves to the surface. Oh, how she missed her. She could only aspire to be half as good as the woman that gave her life. 

Her mind would not dwell on that for long, she quickly tucked those thoughts away for later rumination for no sooner was his wound stitched and freshly bandaged did he leave the bed to don his linen tunic. She wasn't sure what she expected him to do next but her frown did not budge when he rid the bed of the medical supplies only to step out of his steel boots, his hands going to work on the clasp of his trousers. After everything that happened, sex was the last thing on her mind, regardless of whether or not she enjoyed it, but she knew she would have no choice in the matter. Instead, she tore her eyes away from him and stood from the bed herself to begin the task of pulling her dress off her shoulders.

She kept her expression as blank as was possible while she rid herself of the dress and when the delicate fabric connected softly with the floor, she laid back down on the blanket, digging her fingers into the fur beneath her. Ulfric wasn't far behind, quickly joining her on the bed til he hovered just above her, his arms on either side of her body trapping her against the mattress. A deep breath invaded her lungs and her eyes fell closed with her acceptance that this was going to happen.

The next thing she registered was the now familiar softness of his lips against her collar bone, accompanied by one of his hands groping at the swell of her chest, touching her in exactly the right ways to ignite a fire in the pit of her belly and soon she was arching into his ministrations, her small hands grabbing his tunic in a tight grip and turning her face to the side to expose the length of her neck to him. With labored breaths that revealed his own arousal he eagerly claimed the offered flesh, greedily licking and sucking the expanse of her delicate skin in a way that only encouraged the arching of her back and the soft moans that crossed the threshold of her lips.

It ended as abruptly as it started when his hands vigorously pulled hers away from his tunic to pin them above her head and she yanked her left hand away from his with a hiss, a pained expression crossing her face at the pressure he'd placed on her still aching wrist. He stilled above her and her eyes opened, finding his zeroed in on her arm that was now clasped against her chest and though she could see no irritation in his eyes from her denial, she could not stop the way her pulse hitched or how her muscles tensed reflexively under his icy stare. The pain didn't last long, quickly fading back to that dull ache and she raised her hand, til it was positioned beside the one he still held above her head, closing her eyes once more and offering her neck to him again.

Fully expecting him to continue what he'd started, she was surprised when he didn't. Everything seemed to still around her, the only thing she could focus on was his rhythmic breathing that somehow seemed so much louder than before and when it collided with her chest, it cooled her heated skin enough to cause gooseflesh in it's wake. Several more agonizingly long seconds passed and when he still did not move, she began fearing the worst, her face taking on a wince as she braced herself for whatever punishment she would be subjected to.

And then he was gone, the sudden loss of his weight above her startling her enough to search for him. Her eyes found him beside the bed, faced away from her and shoving his legs into his trousers. He took the time to don his steel boots before sweeping out of the guest room, immediately followed by the door connecting harshly with it's frame and leaving her behind, still half-aroused and confused as ever with a cocktail of thoughts and emotions to sift through. And although the darkened window still promised hours of night, she knew no measure of restful sleep would come.


	14. Consequences

Three days passed without so much as a glimpse of the Jarl. He hadn't left the castle, only spent the majority of his time in the war room, even taking his meals there. Til night fell and he would join Arielle in their bed after she was asleep, waking her briefly as he settled into the mattress. Then, when she woke for the day he was gone again, leaving her to herself. 

Which, at first was something she thought she wanted. Solitude. Now that she had it, experiencing the loss of him after all their time spent together, she wasn't so sure. She would still not consider herself fond of the man, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't become accustomed to his presence and touch and having her new normal disrupted without warning was difficult to adjust to. What surprised her the most about it all was the fact that he hadn't tried to lay with her. Hells, he hadn't so much as touched her since she stitched his arm. Meaning the only physical contact she received was when Rona was braiding her hair. And while not uncomfortable, it was far from comforting, leaving Arielle to suffer with something akin to loneliness. 

And she wasn't ignorant to the fact that his absence from her was intentional. Her suspicions were confirmed the day after she'd stitched his arm, when she had to endure the strange glances Galmar kept shooting her at dinner. That meal, and each one since had been particularly awkward, her public display of anger toward the Jarl had not yet been forgotten, by Galmar nor the other officers and the only sound to be heard whilst they ate, was the awkward scraping of forks against plates and the depressing tune of the bard's strumming. Exactly why he was avoiding her, she had no idea. Each day found her laying in her shared bed at day's end, turning the memory over in her mind and unable to find the cause of his swift departure. 

On Loredas, she woke to an empty room. Though the freshly stoked fire offering it's warmth and silver platter on the vanity table housing her breakfast told her that Rona would be back soon enough, the bright light pouring in from the window indicating that it was already somewhere around mid-day. Each day found her sleeping in later and later and yet she still woke up feeling exhausted. With a frown on her face she went about her morning routine, selecting a wine colored dress of soft velvet from the closet before spending a good two minutes appreciating her abdomen in the vanity mirror, searching for any visible change in herself around the delicate fabric that clung to her small waist and shapely hips. She knew it was far too early, but that knowledge would not stop her from marveling at the precious babe tucked inside the safety of her womb. 

It was going as well as it could, til she sat on the chair at her vanity and brought the silver goblet of water to her lips. She drank deeply, her parched throat eagerly accepting the cool liquid as she nearly downed the entire contents of the goblet. The next thing she registered was the sugary sweet aroma of the sweetroll on the tray. Unfortunately, before she could sink her fingers into the icing covered pastry she was sure would still be warm to the touch, her stomach rolled, signaling the return of the acute nausea that had played havoc with her recent mornings. 

Crossing the room as fast as her feet could take her, she only counted herself lucky when she made it to the bedpan in time for the water to come back up. On her hands and knees, she heaved for several minutes, expelling every bit of the water and when her stomach was empty, she continued a fruitless heaving til her belly was aching madly and a sweat dampened the skin of her forehead. And when the final wave of nausea subsided, she slumped against the wall, thankful it was there to support her and rolled her head to the side to press the heated skin of her face against the cold stone. 

Some time later, in the midst of Arielle getting her bearings the sound of the door opening caught her attention. "This child dislikes me," she groaned to the familiar sound of heavy steel boots approaching. A snorted laugh reached her ears that could only have come from her long-time Nordic companion and were she not so focused on recovering from the unexpected bout of nausea she might have rolled her eyes. 

"Nonsense," said Lydia when she came to a stop beside Arielle and laid a nearby towel across the bedpan to cover her sick and she was immensely thankful for the preserving of her dignity. "Your child will love you, when it has a mind to. It's your body that dislikes you." she said, the amusement in her tone not going unnoticed by Arielle who then turned to face the woman with a rather unimpressed look. 

"Keep jesting and I will be sure to repay it should you come to be with child," she quipped, already beginning to feel better. Sensing this, and whilst sporting a grin on her face, Lydia held out a hand and Arielle took it, allowing the woman to help her stand. 

"Never pictured myself the mothering type," said Lydia while Arielle took a few tentative steps, testing her ability to remain upright. 

"Really?" Arielle asked, not bothering to hide her surprise, "You practically mothered me all the way across the province." Fortunately, it seemed the nausea had dissipated so she crossed the room, making her way to the vanity and donned the circlet of silver and sapphires. 

"Yes and that is still a full time job," she quipped, causing a smile to come to Arielle's face. Her gaze strayed to the sweetroll that still sat on the silver platter, which was no doubt as cold as the snow that fell upon Windhelm by now and eyed it hungrily. But as hungry as she was and as good as the icing covered pastry still looked, she was unable to hold down water and she just could not bring herself to chance it with actual food. She ran her fingers through her hair to separate the curls before applying a bit of lavender oil to her wrists and neck. "Speaking of.." Lydia tacked on after a moment, her hesitant tone catching Arielle's attention enough for her to set the bottle of scented oil down and turn to face her housecarl with a curious expression. "I saw Galmar.. last night," she said, a light blush dusting her cheeks and Arielle's eyes widened at the revelation. "That's not what this is about," she quickly tacked on with a shake of her head, her expression turning serious. 

"He isn't sure which officer that was present at dinner the other night talked, but one of them did and now there's rumors going around the barracks. It seems that a few of the men aren't so willing to follow a man that would mistreat his wife, especially someone as loved and respected as the Dragonborn, someone they view as their savior. Whispers of desertion reached Galmar's ears just yesterday." 

Arielle felt herself go pale as the gravity of the situation settled in her mind and she found herself sinking into the chair at her vanity, grasping the back of the chair for support while an expression of genuine fear overtook her features. Soldiers were considering desertion.. because of her. Because of what she said in front of everyone. Her pulse raced in her veins as she tried to get a grip on her thoughts around the mounting panic. Arielle wasn't a war hardened veteran but she knew at least one thing to be true- you can't win a war without soldiers. Oh gods, what had she done? How could she have been so careless? She may very well have just handed Skyrim over to Elenwen herself with her outburst. Was that why Ulfric avoided her, because she cost them the war? "They're only whispers.. for now," said Lydia, her calm voice cutting though Arielle's thoughts, but the warning in her tone rang loud and clear in her mind. "But it only takes one well placed spark to start a fire." 

Though she did not regret the words she said, she knew deep down that she should not have argued with him so publicly. He was a Jarl and as much as she hated it-she was the Dragonborn. Her title carried influence whether she liked it or not and they had far too many enemies to air their dirty laundry to the public. As if wanting to add insult to injury, her mind then conjured the memory of her wedding day. How the people applauded and cheered to see their union, the hope for a better future reflecting in their eyes. Even worse, was the fact that she was with child now. One of her hands found it's way to her abdomen, as she reeled from the consequences of her actions and a new type of fear bloomed in her mind, fear for her child. They couldn't afford to lose this war. There was far too much at stake and after everything the last year and a half had thrown at her, she couldn't fathom the additional pain of losing her child. 

Her nausea returned, a side effect of her anxious mind she was sure, but she did her best to ignore it. Instead, she focused on what she could do to fix the situation. One of her hands rose to where the circlet sat on top of her head and removed it. She held it between her small hands, her thumb exploring the textured sapphires inlaid in the thin silver. She had a part to play. A big one, she realized. Not just as Ulfric's wife, but as the Dragonborn. And for the sake of Skyrim and for the sake of her child, she would play that part, she had to. After all, she chose this, she reminded herself and now it was time to follow through and pray with every bit of her soul that it wasn't too late. "Could you fetch Rona?" she asked Lydia without meeting her eyes. Her housecarl didn't respond but she could both hear and see the steel of her boots at the edge of her vision as she crossed the room, soon followed by the click of the door as it closed behind her.

Only a few moments passed before Lydia returned with Rona in tow. Though it was more than enough time for Arielle to solidify her intentions and steel herself for what she had to do. She took small, tentative sips of water from her goblet while Rona braided her hair into a more traditional look, per her instructions, complete with cuffs of silver throughout. It was a look reminiscent of her wedding day, almost fitting for the promise she was making to herself and to her child. A promise that she would be the best mother she could be. A promise to be the wife she signed on to be. A promise to do better. 

When her hair was finished, she sought out a different dress. Exchanging the wine colored one for her favorite blue one with a rounded neckline that would perfectly display the jeweled bear amulet that hung from her neck, Windhelm's coat of arms. After smoothing the new dress over her figure and pulling a rather comfortable pair of slippers over her feet, she left the room with her housecarl in tow and the pair made their way downstairs. Windhelm's healer Sonja had come by the day before for their scheduled Fredas meetings to retrieve the donated potions and her original plans for the day involved her spending the day in her library-turned-office beginning the process of making more for the following week. 

Unfortunately, those plans came to a screeching halt when Lydia came to her. Instead, her feet came to a stop outside the war room. She could hear the voices of what had to be a few officers inside, muffled by the thick door but still discernable from Ulfric's deep voice or Galmar's gravelly one. A deep breath invaded her lungs and she squared her shoulders. When she pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, Arielle was immediately greeted by an unexpected warmth. Of course, it made sense when her mind registered just how many men were crowded around the map covered table in the now silent room. The eyes of what had to be at least fifteen men, all of whom with a bottle of what she assumed to be mead in front of them, turned their gaze on her as she entered. Ignoring them for the time being, she instead crossed the room to the desk her mountain of a husband was sitting at, surrounded by a rather sizeable pile of letters. 

He was watching her approach, his light blue eyes slightly widened with her unexpected appearance. Without missing a beat, he held his hand out for hers which she gave him when she reached his side. Then his lips were pressed to the back of her hand, a gesture that was familiar though it felt anything but after the long days she spent without physical touch. When his lips left her skin he made to release her hand but she didn't let go. Perhaps only just now realizing how touch starved and lonely she was, she clasped both of her hands around his much larger one, thankful that he made no move to stop her. Her eyes were drawn to the ink and charcoal smudges on the tips of his fingers when it transferred to hers. But it was the smooth skin of the back of his hand that conjured the memory of his marred and abused flesh and she could not stop the sadness that welled inside her from the horrors she now knew he'd been subjected to. 

The harsh sound of Galmar clearing his throat from a few paces away reached her ears before he resumed the previous conversation and though she did not look, she could hear the hasty marks of charcoal against the map and quiet murmurs of the resumed conversation as they continued their battle plans. "I heard you were ill," Ulfric said, an edge of concern in his voice. Though whether it was from her being ill or from the fact she had yet to let go of his hand, she wasn't sure. 

She nodded. "I was," she said, meeting his eyes, "I made the mistake of drinking a bit of water. Too early, I think." 

Then, quite unexpectedly after so many days of being avoided, his free hand landed on the deep curve of her waist, pulling her closer til only a few inches of air separated them. Being as close as she was, it was impossible not to see how stressed and tired he looked. Even his hair suffered. Hair that was usually plaited neatly away from his face and decorated by silver cuffs now looked as frizzy and unkempt as she'd ever seen them. "And now?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. 

"Starving," she admitted with a frown. 

"Jorleif," Ulfric called, turning his attention toward the far wall behind her and she looked over to see the steward standing there, going over what looked to be several pages of notes. 

"Yes, my Jarl?" he asked, the movement of his lips exaggerating the scruffiness of his outrageously long mustache that she passionately wished he would get around to trimming. She couldn't help but liken the scruffy thing to a mole that used to dig it's tunnels beneath her mother's garden back in Helgen, wreaking havoc on their vegetable harvest. 

"Have the kitchen send some bread and broth over and for the love of Talos get her a chair," he ordered, startling the steward into movement. His jerky reaction looking almost comical and she would have felt bad for him if she did not know that to be a part of his eccentric personality. The way that man moved about the castle was down right ridiculous at times. 

"No need for a chair, my Jarl," came another voice and her eyes were drawn to an auburn haired officer she knew to be Tobias. He was already out of his chair across the table from her and the Jarl tilted his head to his left, indicating where he wanted the chair placed. 

"Good man," Ulfric said when the chair was in place before he turned his attention back to Arielle. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, catching her off guard with his question. Not once in all their time spent together had he given her the opportunity to say no to anything and the expression that crossed her face more than conveyed her surprise. Perhaps the situation was even worse than she thought it was. She nodded, releasing his hand to round his chair, her eyes briefly flickering to the table housing the jagged crown as she passed it, reminding her of what was at stake as she took the seat beside him. 

It wasn't long, a few minutes or so before one of the kitchen's severs returned with a tray of food for Arielle. A piece of bread, bowl of broth and a steaming mug of what she assumed to be tea all sat on the silver tray she was served on the left side of his desk. The bread seemed like the safest bet so that's what she started with, all the while praying to the Nine that her food would stay down. She'd been humiliated enough in her short life, she would be just fine without adding throwing her lunch up in front of a room full of people to the list. When she ate as much as she could confidently test her stomach to hold down, she turned her attention to the Jarl's ever growing pile of letters. He'd already resumed the task of responding to the ones in front of himself, his ink-dampened quill swiftly and easily gliding over the fresh sheet of parchment as he replied to another message. 

She busied herself with her own pile of letters, reading through them and separating them into piles of varying import as she'd done so many times before. Though it wasn't long before her thoughts strayed, she couldn't help but wonder which officer -or officers rather- were talking in the barracks and whether or not they were currently in the war room, listening, waiting for another opportunity to undermine them. A tingly feeling sprouted in her hands, her pulse beginning to race at the thought of a threat being so close to home, just waiting for some new piece of information to use against them. Not to mention, the amount of effort it took to keep her breathing even was far from pleasant. And in the back of her mind she couldn't help but wonder, if it might always be this way. Would she always be surrounded by hidden enemies? At least when slaying a dragon, she knew the identity of her opponent. This was a brand new game and she was already at a disadvantage from going in blind. 

How long it went on for, she wasn't sure. Though, she did manage to sort a few dozen letters around her anxious thoughts and when Jorleif reappeared sometime later to announce dinner was ready, she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Outwardly, she kept her eyes on her task as the men filed out of the war room, leaving her alone with her husband and their housecarls. "You can go ahead if you'd like," Ulfric said, earning her attention. She looked over to see the quill in his hand still gliding across the parchment, his eyes never straying from his task. "I'll be a few more moments." The reluctance in his tone giving her the impression that he wasn't coming, despite the words that passed his lips. 

A deep frown came to her face at that. Arriving separately, if he arrived at all, would only encourage the rumors, adding kindling to the fire against them. "Are you not going to escort me?" 

"No," he said, almost bitingly, "You're the Dragonborn. I'm sure you can find your way there just fine." Her frown deepened at that. What happened to the Ulfric that greeted her upon her entry? She detected no noticeable change in his mood til the other men left. Perhaps he was still upset with her for the scene in the dining room. But soured mood or no, he still had to attend dinner, with her. Otherwise.. 

One of her hands migrated to her abdomen, an action she was all too familiar with now. The precious life beneath her small hand reminding her that there was too much to lose, and Arielle was sick of losing people she cared about. No, she quickly decided, if he wasn't going to try, she would. "It would make me uncomfortable to arrive alone," she pressed, testing the waters of his temperament. His hand stilled and for the first time in a few hours, he met her eyes. His icy blue ones roaming her face while his own wore an expression that was something akin to confusion. "You want me to be ..comfortable. Don't you?" 

Briefly, his eyes dropped to the hand that still covered her abdomen, then he released the quill from his grip, allowing it to fall to the parchment beneath his hand and got to his feet. "I do," he said assuredly, holding a hand out to help her up and surprising her with just how easily he caved. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her stand before taking his arm. The cold steel of his bracer offering her no measure of comfort as he led her away from the war room, their housecarls in tow and they made their way to the dining hall. 

Their combined entrance seemed to set the tone for what turned out to be a rather normal dinner, which she was immensely thankful for. Even the bard, Inga, seemed to be playing a lighter than normal tune. The only complication came in the form of a personal one when her nausea returned the very second she was served her first dish. A bowl of soup that was seasoned so strongly she wondered if it happened by accident. Her reaction to cover her mouth with the back of her fingers did not go unnoticed by Ulfric who then demanded the soup be taken away and replaced by more of the bland broth and bread she'd picked at for lunch. Once her nausea subsided, she ate what she could stomach to, all the while cursing this new aversion to food and hoping that it wouldn't last much longer. Fortunately, the rest of dinner passed by without issue and when it was over, a now exhausted Arielle left Ulfric to finish up whatever work he had left and returned to her bedroom for the night. 

She sat at her vanity, taking her time undoing the intricate braids before running a comb through her long tresses. When she was nearly finished with the process, her attention was drawn to the door as the sound of it opening reached her ears. Ulfric entered, closing the door behind himself as he did and her eyes followed him as he began the process of undressing. She continued running the comb through her hair as he rid himself of his armour and clothes before making his way over to the wash basin a few feet away from her vanity table. A deep frown came to her face when the light of the fire reflected off his many scars, illuminating the lot of them against his heavily muscled frame and she was once again overwhelmed by just how many there were. After putting a pot of water by the fire, presumably to warm up for washing, he faced away from her, his fingers working to take out his many braids.

Her eyes wandered to the bandage still wrapped around his thick bicep and she wondered if it had been changed at all in the past few days. She assumed not and the strain on his stitches from undoing his braids was probably not lending any help to the healing process. It would scar, she was sure, but the more he moved his arm in a way that pulled at the stitches, only worsened the outcome. 

Resuming her task, she kept her eyes on her own hair in the mirror while he washed up and redressed in a fresh blue tunic and trousers he retrieved from the dresser to her right. A quiet moment passed and when he did not move away from the dresser, she spared a glance at him only to frown at what she saw. "You're going to rip your stitches out doing that," she said as he worked to re-braid his golden locks. At the sound of her voice, his hands stilled and he met her eyes. 

"They'll be fine, I'm sure," he said, before turning his attention back to his hair and it took everything in her not to roll her eyes. How typical of a Nord to care more about his braids than his wounds. 

She did not spend her time cleaning and stitching his wound for him to mess it all up by fussing over his appearance. With a huff of frustration she stood from her chair and tossed the comb she'd been using onto the polished wooden surface of the vanity table, perhaps a little harder than was necessary. Ulfric was already staring at her when she looked over. "Well, sit down," she said, pointing at the chair she'd previously occupied as she did. "I can't reach if you're standing." Obviously, because he was a giant among men. 

"You want to braid my hair?" he asked incredulously, the surprise in his tone nearly palpable. 

"Re-stitching your arm would make me uncomfortable," she told him pointedly. Apparently it was more than enough to convince him because he took the seat at her vanity. She took a moment to grab the thick Nordic braid cuffs from the dresser, cuffs that were much larger than the small ones she sometimes wore and set them on the vanity. Then she ran the comb through his still damp hair, being sure to remove any tangles before she began the process of braiding. The fire crackled and popped as the logs burned in the fireplace, the sound seeming almost too loud in the otherwise quiet room while she worked on his hair. Though she was not oblivious to his gaze on her hands as she plaited his hair in it's usual style, thick braids away from his face with the ends secured by the cuffs. She never really looked at his hair before, beyond his preferred style. But now that she was up close, she could see the bits of gray coming through at his temples and feel the softness of his tresses between her fingers. He had rather nice hair, she decided and the additional contact after days of nothing was far from what she would consider unpleasant. 

It didn't take long, a few minutes or so to plait his hair away from his face. "I'm finished," she announced after securing the last silver cuff to the end of a braid and releasing his hair, almost reluctantly so. She clasped her hands together, lacing her fingers while he examined her work in the mirror. Her mind replayed the events of the day and she found herself desperately hoping that she hadn't done too much damage with her outburst. 

"It's perfect," he said, turning to face her, taking notice of the deep frown her expression had turned into. 

"I'm sorry I yelled at you in front of others," she said before he could ask, "It was thoughtless and.. immature. I know what we're fighting for and I know what's at stake. You don't have to avoid me anymore.. it won't happen again." 

One of his hands found his hair and he let out an exasperated sigh as he smoothed his hair back. He was quiet for a long moment, perhaps considering her apology. He inhaled deeply before he spoke again. "If there's any consequences to face, it will be my own fault and not yours for speaking the truth. Politics are a delicate thing that you will learn in time and as far as avoiding you, I was not. I only meant to give you the space I thought you wanted." 

"Oh," she said, letting her eyes drop to her still clasped hands and chewed the inside of her lip while considering his words. She supposed she should consider herself lucky that he wasn't upset with her, especially with the knowledge of what was at stake. She knew she would be furious with him herself if he caused harm to their child, inadvertently or not. But she was sure her own guilt would remind her of her shortcomings for the foreseeable future as self-doubt wormed it's way deeper into her mind. Yes, she was sure, her own thoughts would provide plenty of punishment on their own. 

His movement cut through her thoughts as he took the few steps that separated them, til her neck was forced in a rather uncomfortable position as she met his eyes that seemed somewhat softer as they roamed her face. "You have to tell me what you want," he said, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips, "I can't read your mind and I have no intentions to live with a miserable wife who would despise me." 

"I don't despise you," she said, sure that her words were true. While he had done things she knew were not excusable, she also knew that there were far worse things one person could do to another. His own abused flesh was proof enough of that. 

"Then, you are a far better woman than I deserve," he said. One of his hands worked it's way between hers to separate them and slowly, almost tentatively pulled her left hand closer before sliding the velvet sleeve of her dress up her arm and revealing a nearly faded bruise on her wrist, it's yellowish color barely discernable from her fair skin. He sighed deeply at the sight of it, his frown deepening if that were somehow possible and she could see the regret swimming in his eyes. "I'm not fool enough to ask for forgiveness," he said, shaking his head while his thumb stroked the delicate flesh of her wrist, "But I give you my word.. I will never dishonor you like this again," With that said, he released her arm and before she could respond, left her to round the bed to his side where he began removing his trousers. 

Her stomach did an elated flip at the thought of what was to come. After days of nothing, she was damn near eager for physical contact. Once the few candles on her vanity had been snuffed out, she made her way to her own side of the bed as he got comfortable on the mattress and slipped the dress off her frame, leaving it where it dropped on the rug before taking the few steps of the dais and sliding beneath the blanket beside him. Though her elation quickly faded away when he made no move to have her, no move to even touch her. 

It felt like her stomach sank deep into the pit of her belly as they lay there, side by side to the tune of their combined breathing while the events of the day danced in her mind. The thought of enemies in their own household was not a pleasant one and one she was sure she would never be used to. "Will we always have so many enemies?" she asked after a moment, rolling her head to the right in time to see him mirror the action. The fireplace burned brightly, illuminating the room enough to make out his expression, enough to see that he was still frowning. 

"Always." A sorrowed expression came to her own face at his response and now needing touch more than ever, she moved closer til her body was pressed against his. Her hands clung to the soft linen of his tunic and she was thankful when one of his strong arms came around her, the action offering a comfort like never before. And in that moment, it was a comfort without equal. Because, in that moment, she knew she wasn't alone.


	15. Redress

"Take it, I can't even look at it anymore," Arielle said, punctuating her words with a dismissive wave of her hand at the tray of food in front of her. After staring at the now barely warm broth and bread for some time, she finally concluded that the repeating sight offered absolutely no appeal to her starving stomach. Ulfric's sigh of frustration reached her ears as her tray, as well as his own was whisked away by one of the kitchen workers, her eyes following the movement as the young Nord woman swept out of the war room. 

"You should at least attempt to eat," he said from the chair beside her, the chiding in his tone demanding more effort than she cared to exert to keep her eyes from rolling. They were sharing the space at his desk, working together to sort and respond to messages and mail. Well, she sorted, he responded. Which was, far from the top of the list of her favorite activities, but she knew he needed her public support, now more than ever. 

Lydia sat close by, her chair pulled up to the map covered table beside the desk and occupying herself with a small book in her hands. Galmar sat just beside her, though he was deep in conversation with Tobias and a fair haired, aging officer named Torsten about the Imperial ship that was still lurking beyond Eastmarch's shore. The three men contemplating whether or not it was time to sail one of Windhelm's own ships out to scare it off.

" _You_ eat it," she said stubbornly, her tone a little harsher than she intended and keeping her eyes on the envelope in her hands that was unexpectedly addressed to her. She hooked an index finger beneath the thick green wax seal bearing Whiterun's coat of arms and tore it open. She was being unreasonable, she knew that. She also knew her response would most definitely make the list for the least mature things to ever pass her lips. But in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. The repeating sight of the only thing she could stomach to eat had effectively killed her desire for any sort of nourishment and left her feeling quite bitter toward everyone around her. 

It wasn't their fault she couldn't eat 'real' food without becoming ill, but that knowledge did little to quell her irritations. Another sigh, this time one of defeat, and she could see the feather end of his quill dancing wildly from his deep exhale in the corner of her vision. Although he was unhappy with her, she expected he would not press the issue. For Ulfric had adopted a rather accommodating attitude toward her lately, more so than she expected from him, despite what he'd previously said regarding her happiness. 

The fireplace burned brightly at the far side of the room. Combined with the heat being put off by the many candles occupying the far corners of Ulfric's desk and Arielle found it to be a bit too warm. So much that she dropped the letter she was holding to wipe her damp palms on the deep purple velvet of the skirt of her dress before she continued reading. It was not from the Jarl Hrongar, as she suspected from the decorated wax seal, but his new wife Carlotta. Her mouth was set in a deep frown as she read the fake well wishes for her pregnancy and regret over her and Ulfric's absence from their wedding. And she could not stop the scoff that escaped her at that particular feigned nicety. 

"Find something interesting?" Ulfric asked in that deep voice of his, genuine curiosity apparent in his tone. For it was not often Arielle had such an obvious reaction to something she read. But her reaction was involuntary, Carlotta was well enough aware of Arielle's dislike of her and sending her a direct message felt a lot like goading. 

"Carlotta," she said, making sure the distaste was clear in her tone before lifting ever so slightly out of her chair to pass the letter around a cluster of pillar candles to Lydia who was still seated a few feet away. The brunette accepted the letter and began reading. "She's.. entirely regretful we could not attend her wedding," she said to Ulfric, already reaching for the next letter in the pile. 

"She's Lady Carlotta now," Ulfric corrected and she turned her head to the right to find him looking back at her. Her lips pursed, her expression morphing into the most unimpressed one she could muster. 

"Anyone that gives up their child for the sake of her own dignity is no lady in my eyes," she said quietly, being careful of the volume in which she spoke before turning her attention back to the waiting letters stacked in front of her. 

"I recall one of my reports saying she entered Dragonsreach with a daughter," Ulfric said and she wondered how in oblivion he remembered so much information with the dozens of missives he received each day, "care to explain what you mean?"

"Perhaps," she said, her eyes flickering up to Tobias and Torsten who still lingered in the war room. They did not appear to be listening, but she knew better than to chance a repeat of her earlier mistake.

Lydia scoffed, earing her attention enough to look over and take note of the scowl on her face as she finished reading the letter. She met her eyes and Arielle nodded toward the fireplace, making it clear exactly what she wanted done with it. Lydia eagerly complied and Arielle couldn't stop the corner of her lips from turning up in satisfaction at watching the letter fuel the fire and be reduced to ashes. 

Dismissing the visiting officers wasn't necessary it seemed, because they were already on their way out of the war room, the desired outcome of their meeting seemingly reached and from what she gathered from the tail end of the conversation, it sounded like Torsten would be readying a ship for standby. Arielle waited until the door was firmly closed before she spoke. 

"Nelkir was-is hers," she said to Ulfric and the glance she spared his way confirmed that he was already looking at her, probably expecting her to continue, though his features quickly morphed into a look of confusion from her response. 

"Nelkir?"

Arielle nodded. "Balgruf's third child did not belong to his wife," she told him before one of her small hands rose to hover above her mug of what she suspected was probably ice cold tea by now and conjured a spell of fire to infuse the liquid with heat til it was brought to a steaming temperature. Satisfied with that, she brought the mug to her lips, tasting the strong floral notes of the herbal tea before she spoke again, "Though, with her passing away the same week of his birth it made it rather simple to pass him off as hers. Carlotta could have accepted a place in Balgruf's court as his mistress, instead she gave him their child to keep the affair from public knowledge." Though, Arielle suspected the real reason to be simply because Balgruf had not proposed marriage to her. And why would he? When she gave him what he wanted so freely. 

"And how did you come to know this?" he asked and she met his eyes again before hers roamed his expressionless face, though that could easily change with what she was about to say. As tranquil as his mood had been regarding her lately, she knew it was all too easy to draw his ire. 

"Hrongar told me so," she said, "when Balgruf asked me to marry him." He surprised her then, hardly looking disturbed by what she said. Though, he too asked her to marry him so he was clearly well-versed in all things political, marriages included. "I said no, obviously," she added, sparing a glance at the weighty sapphire that rest on her wedding band before bringing the piping hot tea to her lips once more. Her attention was then stolen by movement in the corner of her vision and she saw Galmar's hand come to rest on Lydia's knee. 

The woman promptly removed it and the corner of Arielle's mouth turned up at the sight of the blush that enveloped the skin of her housecarl's cheeks. Though that smile vanished when a bitter wave of jealousy washed over her at the sight of the genuine adoration in Galmar's eyes. He'd been nothing but honorable in his courting and the knowledge that she would never have what they had, what her parents had, was a rather hard potion to swallow. Even now, long after embracing her fate, the sight of another's happiness was almost too much to bear witness to. 

Part of her mind registered that Ulfric had spoken, but she did not catch what he said. She faced him with an inquisitive look, "What?" 

"I asked why," he said and a deep frown came to her face when she realized he was talking about Whiterun's former Jarl. Her mind quickly shuffled through the reason's she never accepted his proposal. She wanted to marry for love, to not be used for political gain, to not barter herself to better her own life. It was a culmination of all of them, she supposed. But not one of them did she wish to voice to Ulfric. After all, hadn't she peddled herself to him for his aid in halting the war so she could pursue the World Eater? How did her choice differ so much from Carlotta's? Perhaps, she thought as a fresh wave of shame washed over her, they were not so different. Perhaps, part of her hatred for the woman stemmed from their similarities and not their differences. Perhaps, they were the same. 

Thankfully, before she could dwell on those shameful thoughts much longer, the door opened. "My Jarl," Jorleif said as he entered, marching dutifully over to Ulfric's desk and wearing an expression of concern. When he came to a stop, one of his hands smoothed the front of his lightly wrinkled red tunic before he spoke again. "Rolf has been arrested for assaulting another dunmer, eyewitness reports say he pushed Sadri's wife in the market square," he said, "he awaits sentencing in the throne room." 

"Balls!" Galmar swore, his words immediately followed by a gravelly groan of irritation.

"By the gods," Ulfric said, annoyance bleeding into his tone as he mirrored his housecarls sentiment. One of his hands smoothed the golden hairs of his goatee down, his expression turning thoughtful. "Galmar, kindly escort your brother to a cell without a bed for a few nights. Let his discomfort deter him from future outbursts," he said after a moment and Arielle couldn't stop the irritation that sprouted in her at his words, demanding she speak up.

"Is a couple of nights in jail really the going rate for assaulting a woman?" she asked incredulously, "How is that justice?" Ulfric faced her then, his brow furrowed, a clear indication of his displeasure at her outburst. But this was not the first time Rolf had stirred up trouble. Though until now, the man at least had sense enough to not take his aggressions out on women. "What if it had been me he assaulted?" she went on, imploring him to reconsider, "Would a few nights suffered in jail suffice then?" 

His icy blue eyes darkened, his jaw strained tight and if she could not tell by his expression that she'd angered him, she would know by the audible snap of his teeth alone. He turned his heated gaze on the half written letter in front of himself, only to realize the quill he'd been holding had leaked, spilling it's ink in a rather unsightly puddle on the page. A deep exhale left him before he set his quill into it's stand and reached for a fresh piece of parchment, setting the ruined one off to the right side of the large desk. A long moment passed while he presumably considered her words, all the while wearing a sullen and ill-tempered expression. "Sixty days," he finally said, his words directed to Galmar, "make sure he's uncomfortable. If it happens again, he'll be a permanent resident." 

Galmar stalked toward the door before yanking it open with a huff, incoherent grumbles tumbling from his lips. Though her ears did pick up something about 'lost gourds' and 'wringing necks'. 

"My Lady," Jorleif said, cutting through her thoughts enough to know he was talking to her. "Doria awaits in the throne room," he said and she nodded, rising from her seat beside the Jarl. Ulfric swiftly captured her hand, bringing the back of her palm to his lips, the scratch of the hairs of his goatee starkly contrasting the softness of his lips on her skin and try as she might, she could not stop the blood pooling in her cheeks from the sensations that stirred within her from his touch. 

"Send her upstairs," she said to the steward while her eyes stayed locked on Ulfric who was running his large thumb across the back of her hand in a touch so soft it nearly boggled her mind with the knowledge it was him doing it. And though she did not look, she could hear the stewards hasty retreat from the war room while her attention stayed focused on the hand she held in her own, clinging to the comfort of his touch that had been offered only sparingly over the past few days and always ended too soon for her liking. "Thank you for reconsidering," she said, watching the effect of her words, how the corner of his mouth turned up in an almost smile. 

"You're welcome," he said, releasing her hand. He was already turning his attention back to his work when a frown came to her face at the loss of contact. Still, she made her way around the desk with Lydia in tow and the pair exited the war room, leaving Ulfric behind. Bright sconces lit the much cooler hallways of the castle, each tiny flame leading the way upstairs to her bedroom. 

Once the pair entered her room, she immediately took notice of the dying fire. Slipper covered feet carried her over to the fireplace where she added a few logs while Lydia settled into one of the chairs the table by the window had to offer, opening her book once more and picking up where she left off. The already opaque window was heavily darkened, more than was usual by late afternoon and she suspected rain was the culprit. The weather had been uncharacteristically warmer the past few days, resulting in a rather heavy amount of rain being brought down on the snowy city. She made her way over to the table and joined Lydia, occupying herself with her own book and sure enough, she could hear the soft _plinks_ of icy rainwater as it made contact with the glass window. 

It wasn't long, a few minutes of comfortable silence before a knocking sounded from the door. Once given the all-clear to enter, the midwife Doria appeared looking all too excited to check up on the Jarl's expecting wife. Her long grey tresses were neatly woven into a braided bun and hanging from the belt of her linen dress was a satchel that Arielle was already familiar with. From herbs to potions, that woman seemed to have everything but the kitchen basin in that large pouch at her waist. 

"My lady," she said, greeting Arielle with a soft smile and a voice that was raspy with age but somehow still soothing to hear. She then spared a greeting nod toward Lydia, "housecarl." One of her hands wrapped around the back of the third chair at the table, pulling it closer to Arielle before making herself comfortable and fixing her with an attentive expression.

After answering a few questions and Doria concluding that none of her symptoms were anything to worry about, much to her dissapointment, Arielle found herself laying on her bed and holding the skirt of her dress up to her waist while Doria pressed and prodded at her lower abdomen. "I think you're just about ten weeks along," the midwife said, "and as small as you are, I expect you'll begin showing any day now."

Though, she was elated to hear that she would soon be able to see physical evidence of her growing babe, a deep frown came to her face at how far along she was. For she had only been married to the Jarl for ten weeks and it didn't take much calculating to know that her pregnancy stemmed from their very first night together. Which was, at first what she hoped, back when she felt nothing but dreadful anticipation of the Jarl's touch. Now her feelings had drastically changed and she felt a deep sorrow knowing that her precious child had been conceived in a manner in which she abhorred. 

It was a distasteful thought her mind seemed all too eager to nurture. So much that she could not help but look forward to the midwife's departure. Doria, however did not seem to mirror the sentiment. She took her time with her examination, eagerly reiterating the information she'd previously dumped on her about foods and alchemical ingredients to avoid and Arielle couldn't help but wonder if the midwife's overzealous attention came naturally or if she was receiving special treatment as Ulfric's wife. Probably the latter, she decided. 

Though it wasn't all for naught, the midwife soon departed, leaving behind a large pouch of herbal tea leaves that was supposed to help with her gods awful food aversions. Although she considered herself far from confident in it's effectiveness. After all, Arielle was training to be a healer before her world got turned upside down and she had not been successful in any of her own alchemical creations, but she was more than willing to try if it meant she could eat again. 

It wasn't long after Doria left that Arielle's thoughts turned sour once more. So sour in fact that she excused herself from Lydia's fine company, donning a cloak of white fur and left her room in search of fresh air to clear her mind. She didn't want to think of the information she learned, or the memory of her wedding night, but her mind seemed set on it. Moments later she found herself out on the castle's massive wrap around balcony, her palms resting on the cool and still-wet stone of the balustrade, undeterred by the snow falling around her. The air had cooled as the sun descended, causing the rain to crystalize into soft flurries that had already covered the city before her in a thin layer of white.

A fluttering movement of black in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she glanced to her left, her eyes coming to rest upon a group of three starlings. Their feathers -a rich oily hue- stood out sharply against the gently falling snow as they migrated so effortlessly between the balustrade and the stone floor of the balcony. And she couldn't help but envy their beautifully speckled bodies and wings. Wings that could carry them anywhere. A memory surfaced, of herself on the back of ohdaviing as he weaved his way through the clouds, her head thrown back as she felt the wind caress her skin in a way it never had before. 

And although she flew toward her prophesized life's purpose, in that moment, it felt like freedom. 

The hood and shoulders of her cloak were dusted with a thin layer of snow when the sound of the door opening reached her ears. She turned to face the sound, unsurprised to learn it was Ulfric standing in the open doorway, he had a habit of finding her when her mood was foul. "It's dinner time," he said and she didn't even try to hide the frown that came to her face. 

Still, with as much dignity as her starving stomach would allow her, she started toward the door and when she made it back inside the castle, she allowed Ulfric to remove her now snow covered cloak off her shoulders, shaking it out briefly before he hung it up to dry on one of the steel hooks beside the door. 

"May I escort you?" Ulfric asked, offering his arm and once again surprising her with the fact that he was actually asking. With a nod, she looped her hand beneath his arm resting it on the steel bracer covering his forearm and let him lead her down the hall. They made their way in a comfortable enough silence and Arielle allowed her thoughts to wander. And wander they did, her face settling into a deep frown when the midwife's words echoed in her mind and she found herself awash with confusion when they came to a stop outside their bedroom door. 

"I thought we were having dinner," she said when he opened the door, beckoning her to enter before him. 

The corner of his lip turned up in a smile, "I thought, a change of scenery was overdue. Of course, you're more than welcome to join the others downstairs if you'd prefer."

Again, he was leaving it up to her to decide and it didn't take her long because the last thing she felt like doing was dining in a room half filled with people she wasn't even sure she could trust. Without further delay, she crossed the threshold, stepping into their bedroom that welcomed her with warmth. The fireplace burned brightly, bathing half the room in bright orange glow, the other light source stemming from the table where a cluster of candles sat, illuminating their dinner. She approached the table, her mind noting the closing of the door and the audible approach of Ulfric's heavy boots as he followed closely behind. 

Her hands wrapped around the back of her chair as she took in the sight of the spread. It was the same plate she'd been served so many times over the last week, bread and broth, but there were only a necessary amount of utencils and the offered privacy was more than welcome. To her immense surprise, she loved it and she could not stop the small smile that came to her face as she took her seat. Ulfric mirrored the action, wasting no time in bringing a bottle of what she assumed to be ale to his lips. 

With an inquisitive look, she reached for her own mug that was warm to the touch. "The tea your midwife left," Ulfric said before she could ask, surprising her with having thought of everything. 

With a nod, she gave it an experimental sniff, crinkling her nose at the heavy scent of Dragon's Tongue blossoms and she knew right away the taste was going to be far from what she would consider pleasant. Still, if it helped her eat, she'd drink it. She tasted it, making a face as she swallowed. Thankfully, it wasn't entirely unbearable and she took a few more sips while her eyes followed the movement of one of his hands as he reached for the lid covering a third serving tray. "If it works and you're feeling brave," he said, pulling the lid off and revealing two baked potatoes. 

Oh, and they smelled amazing, their heavily-seasoned, garlicky aroma wafted to her and her mouth instantly watered, inspiring her to take more sips of her tea in hopes that it would settle her stomach enough for her to taste one and keep it down. Ulfric dug into his own tray and that's when she realized that he'd been served the same broth and bread that she had. A wave of guilt washed over her at the sight of his meager serving, realizing that he had taken her previous words quite literally. 

"You didn't have to do that, you know," she said.

He looked up from the bread he'd just ripped in half, shooting her a brief, sympathetic smile. "Suffering through a few light meals is the very least I can do," he said assuredly before shoving the bread into his mouth. She followed his lead and the two ate their meal at a relaxed pace, a most welcome change from the many public dinners she'd endured since marrying the Jarl. There were no etiquette rules, no-one waiting to undermine them and although their dishes were not the fine china they typically dined on, she considered this dinner to be by far the nicest one yet. 

"We should do this more often," she said before popping a piece of broth soaked bread into her mouth. 

He looked up from his plate, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips, "Then we will."

She fixed him with a look of surprise, "Really?" 

"As often as we can manage," he said, "if that's what you want."

She nodded, "It is." 

When her broth was finished and with the delicious smell of the potatoes lingering in the air, she set her bowl and spoon off to the side, exchanging them for the offered fork and stabbed it through one of the potatoes. Another positive aspect of dining privately, was if she could not hold her food down, she would not have to venture far to the bedpan and that thought alone was more than enough to renew her confidence. Tentatively, she cut a small portion from the softened potato and brought it passed her lips. 

Oh gods, it was good. So good that she nearly cried. After too many days of broth and bread, it seemed like that potato was the most delicious thing to ever pass her lips and that was her breaking point. She ate the cooked potato eagerly, stuffing it down almost greedily and a quick glance at Ulfric told her he was all too amused by her actions as he helped himself to the other potato. 

To her immense delight, the potato was staying down. In fact, she felt better than she had in weeks and she was sure that the private dinner lent a hand just as much as the tea. 

"Thank you for this," she said, keeping her eyes trained on the prongs of her fork as she picked at the soft potato, taking another bite of the seasoned spud. 

"You're welcome."

After their dinner was finished, they began the process of readying for bed. Arielle took her time at her vanity, thoroughly enjoying the heat being put off by the fireplace while undoing the intricate braid Rona had woven her hair into many hours prior and using her comb to remove any tangles she found along the way. Ulfric was already beneath the fur blanket, but still awake when she finally rid herself of the deep purple dress, letting it fall in a wrinkled-heap on the thick rugs before joining him under the blanket. She moved closer to him, clinging to the heat of his Nordic body and laid her head on his tunic covered chest. 

As they laid there, to the tune of their own breathing her mind wandered back to her appointment with the midwife. "Doria says I'm ten weeks along," she said, tilting her head back in time to watch his eyes open. 

"I heard," he said, one of his large hands migrating to her abdomen offering more warmth. Her hand left his tunic to settle over his on her abdomen, the feeling of his hand a most welcome comfort since he was still reluctant to touch her. "You'll be feeling better soon."

"We've been married for ten weeks," she said, watching the way his brow creased as he did the math in his mind. He had to know.. 

"We can't change the past," he said after a moment and she could see the regret swimming in his eyes, "but at least something good came from it." 

The genuineness of his words and expression stirred something in her, "I hadn't thought of it like that," she admitted and he snorted a laugh that had her expression morphing into one of confusion. 

"Well, I'm not surprised," he said, "what with your tendency to brood." 

It took several seconds for her mind to play catch up to the shift in his mood, his tone one she'd never heard from him before and her eyes narrowed when it dawned on her.. "A-are you teasing me?" she asked incredulously. 

He exhaled a laugh, the corner of his mouth turning up just a bit before he responded, "Perhaps." 

Narrowing her eyes further, her hand left his to come down on his chest in a firm swat, a move that only caused his smile to widen. "So you do have a sense of humor," he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

She pursed her lips, shooting him a dry look. "Of course I do," she said, before turning her eyes on the blue linen canopy above their heads. Though she didn't even know the last time she laughed. Truthfully, she hadn't known real joy since before her parents died. He must have noticed her fallen expression because his hand migrated from it's place on her abdomen, coming up to her face and lifting her chin to face him again.

The tips of his fingers stroked the length of her jaw in a touch that was so gentle and unexpected her eyes widened from the sheer surprise of it. But it was not unwelcome and her eyes fell closed, a breathy exhale leaving her chest at the thought of him continuing. Then his hand was gone and her eyes opened to find his face turned from hers, his hand resting at his side. And she could not stop the frown that came to her face at the loss of his touch. Her mind couldn't help but ponder the reasons for his recent lack of touch. With her being with child, did he not want her anymore? And what about her own needs? He'd stirred feelings deep inside her, forced her to yearn for his touch and now he scarcely gave it. 

"Will you not touch me anymore?" she asked, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them from doing so.

He turned his gaze on her, his light blue eyes studying her face for a moment before he responded, "I'm not going to take what's not being offered." 

His hand returned to her jaw then, the tips of his fingers grazing the length as gently as they had the first time. She knew all too well how skilled his hands were, how good he could make her feel and she felt a flicker of desire flare deep in the pit of her belly at his extended touch. 

"And.. if I was offering?" she pressed, her chest rising just a bit higher, her breaths just a bit deeper.

"Then I would have you," he said, "but only then." 

It dawned on her then, he was leaving it up to her. Giving her a choice and the ability to deny him if she wanted. 

A deep blush pooled in her face before the words had even left her, "I'm offering." 

He pulled the thick fur blanket away from them and moved til he was above her. And though the light was dim, the fireplace now the only source of light, the lust in his gaze as his eyes roamed her bare flesh trapped beneath his large frame was unmistakable. 

One of his hands, that was rough and calloused from years spent holding a sword, roamed the delicate flesh of her chest, grabbing and groping for more of her. With a soft moan, her eyes fell closed to the pleasant sensation of her nipples hardening under his skilled fingers, her chest rising higher into his touch and more breathy exhales escaped her as the tips of his fingers pressed even deeper into her soft skin. Her own hands reached up, exploring the hardened muscles over the linen shirt he wore before venturing higher til they found his neck. Her fingers easily slid through his braided tresses, tightly anchoring themselves before she pulled him down, offering her neck so his lips might touch her skin. 

His warm exhale hit her chest causing gooseflesh to prickle across her heated skin before his lips came down on her jaw. And for all the times they'd done this before, she was still surprised by how soft and warm they were as he trailed open-mouthed kisses across her skin to her ear. It was the closest his mouth had come to her own since their wedding day and she felt the blood pool madly in her cheeks when she remembered how his mouth moved against her own. The hand he wasn't using to brace himself above her continued it's assault, his teasing fingers causing the blood to race through her veins and she began to squirm impatiently beneath him. The apex of her thighs was slick with her arousal when he finally parted her legs, settling himself between them. His hand left her chest to position himself, her hips bucking uncontrollably when she felt his thickness at the precipice of her entrance. 

"Do you want this?" he asked, the seriousness of his voice cutting through her thoughts enough for her to meet his eyes. The realization that he was giving her another choice, another chance to deny him was a startling one, and in that moment she felt her heart swell from his consideration.

"Yes," she answered immediately, an audible hoarseness in her voice she'd never heard before. 

"Then keep your eyes open," he said, his own voice rough from his lust. She nodded. 

"I will," she promised. And she intended to, but when he pushed the head of his cock inside, parting her folds and stretching them around his girth, the fluttering of her eyes was involuntary. Her back arched into him, her deep moan an audible sign of her body giving over to the pleasure of him slowly filling her, nearly lost to the volume of his own pleasured groan. He pushed on, her walls giving way til she was completely full of him, til every inch of his warm and throbbing manhood was buried within her, his burning hips flush with her own and she was lost to it. Only his deep voice cutting through her pleasure addled thoughts pulled her out of the euphoric trance she'd slipped into. 

_"Come back, Arielle,"_ he said and she reluctantly opened her eyes to his light blue ones. Eyes that reminded her of glaciers in the northern sea were now nearly black from his own arousal and somehow added to the heat that returned to the pit of her belly and flared in her loins. And she wondered how he could be so still, seem so calm when all she wanted was for him to move. 

_"Gods, Ulfric, don't stop."_

With a sharp intake of breath and a grip on her shapely hip that was sure to leave a bruise, he pulled out, then thrust back in again just as slowly as the first time. Almost too slow, as if he were savoring each thrust, committing the feel of it to memory. His brow knit in his concentration but his gaze never wavered and her hips trembled in his grip, a futile attempt to welcome him deeper, but his fingers only gripped her harder, anchoring her to the mattress. A whine of frustration welled in her when their hips were flush again, a soft sound that was easily drown out by another of his deep, rumbling groans. He pulled himself back before thrusting again, another slow descent into her supple walls that eagerly embraced him, her legs spread wider, unconsciously finding his waist to accommodate him better, inviting him deeper in her quest for more. And when their hips were flush once more, he stilled. 

_"please,"_ she whispered, the burning heat in her loins already reaching an unbearable intensity, her body nearly trembling with it's need, _"Please move."_

That seemed to be enough, and gods if she had the mental capacity she would thank each of the Nine when he started to move again. Her eyes rolled, her delicate folds singing with pleasure as he set a leisured pace. The delicious friction of his skin moving against hers, stretching her supple walls with each thrust had sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine and it took much more effort than she thought it would to keep her eyes locked on his. 

His hand released her hip to grope and tease her chest and she began gyrating her pelvis against his girth, releasing a steady stream of moans as her fingers left his hair, her nails finding purchase in the plains of his back and earning a groan of approval whenever they scraped across his linen covered skin. His mouth hovered above hers, their lips not quite touching and when his warm breaths rolled down her face and neck and she could feel her walls fluttering around him as she approached her release, she rose slightly to capture his lips unconsciously, only for him to pull away before she could. 

Her eyes widened in surprise when his large hand rose from her chest to find her throat, gripping her neck with a firm pressure that should have alarmed her as it made it more difficult to breathe. But her body reacted just as eagerly to the spotty vision he inflicted as it did to the increasing pace of his thrusts. 

He snapped his pelvis eagerly against hers now, each thrust hitting her most sensitive spot and despite -or because of- her lack of oxygen, her head fell back, a throaty moan forcing it's way past her lips. Stars burst behind her eyes as she crested the wave of bliss that washed over her nerves, enveloping each one in a seamless pleasure that seemed to last forever. 

He released her throat when she came back down from her high, gulping for the stolen air and drinking in the heady scent of his musk and sex that hung heavy in the air around them. His fingers and thumb pressed deeply into her jaw, forcing her lips to part for him. His lips devoured hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue coaxing hers into a passionate dance she never experienced before, overwhelming her with it's intensity. She kissed him back eagerly, tasting the honey that still lingered from his ale, the hairs of his goatee poking and prickling her delicate skin as his mouth moved fervidly against hers. 

He groaned into her mouth, his movements becoming even more urgent as he chased his own end. A few more sharp thrusts and his hand stole down to grip her hip, holding her tightly against him and groaning so deeply that the vibrations transferred to her body as his lips and hips finally stilled. She watched his brow come together, his jaw tightening as his expression morphed into one of pleasure in response to his release. Could feel the throbbing and twitching of his cock inside her as he painted her sensitive tunnel with his warm come. His lips left hers, only to bury his head in the crook of her neck and her hands fell limply to the mattress while they caught their breath together. 

For a long moment it was quiet, the only sounds to be heard stemmed from their own labored lungs and the fireplace as they bathed in the afterglow of their shared bliss. Finally he pulled himself from her, rolling to his back on the mattress beside her and pulling her body against him. She settled against his chest, her eyes falling closed to the soft fur of their blanket caressing her rapidly cooling skin and his thick arms wrapping around her. 

She clung to his embrace, her mind and body feeling sated in a way they hadn't before, and one of her hands rose to her lips, her fingertips tracing them as her sleepy mind replayed the memory of his fevered kiss only moments ago. Sleep came easier than it ever had before, her consciousness drifted away to the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her ear, lulling her like a bard's drum into a deep slumber. 


	16. Awry

On her exhale, Arielle released her arrow. It sailed across the snow covered training yard, striking the practice dummy in the center of the painted target decorating it's chest. With a satisfied smile pulling at her lips, she stepped to the side, the skirt of her blue dress gliding over the fresh snow as she offered the spot she previously occupied to her housecarl. Lydia stepped forward, positioning herself in the dummy's path before nocking an arrow. Arielle let her gaze wander while her housecarl took aim. 

It was early morning, the sun barely risen over the horizon and obscured from vision by thick clouds that covered the sky as far as one could see. It was the earliest she had been awake in months, no doubt due to the exhaustion she felt since the beginning of her pregnancy. But she and Ulfric had been so entangled beneath the heavy fur blanket that when he left the bed, he had little choice but to stir her. Despite a very real attempt to stay in their shared bed, clinging to the delicious warmth he'd left behind, she only managed a few short moments of sleep and rose shortly after he left. She didn't mind so much, because now she knew how he spent his early mornings, swinging his sword in the training yard. 

Her gaze came to rest on him at the far end of the enclosed yard, quite literally hacking away at one of the practice dummies. She watched his thick arms move with ease, each precise swing of his practice sword denting the armour and chipping away at the wooden dummy and sending chunks flying off in every direction and a small part of her mind wondered just how many dummies -or men- he'd hacked his way through over the years. And for a moment, she marveled at his ability to move so accurately, entirely unbothered by the heavy weight of his chestplate and fur cloak adorning him, as if they weren't even there. Ulfric himself was a giant among men, but the way he moved, from each calculated step to every precise swing of his sword, his prowess conjured a mental image of a bear attacking it's prey and she couldn't imagine anyone besting him in a battle, of steel or otherwise. 

Her gaze lingered on his arms, that were scarred and strong from his years spent fighting. Arms that could rip his enemy to shreds with ease but somehow still felt so nice when they were wrapped around her. Her thoughts were interrupted when Jorleif entered her field of vision when he came to a stop a few paces away from where the Jarl was decimating his target, the quick movements of his lips causing his unsightly mustache to quiver erratically but as far away as she was, it was impossible to make out his words. She turned to face her housecarl, only to be met with a barely there smirk. "My turn?" she assumed, stepping up and readjusting her wool cloak behind her shoulders, freeing her arms enough to nock an arrow. 

"It was your turn a full minute ago," said Lydia, her tone bearing just a bit too much amusement. And though Arielle shot her a dry look before releasing her arrow, she felt the warmth bloom in her cheeks while watching the arrow sail across the yard to join the dozen or so others sticking out of the target's chest, all the while praying to the nine that her staring hadn't been as obvious to anyone else.

She turned back to face her housecarl, but Lydia's eyes were cast elsewhere. On Galmar, she discovered when she followed the woman's gaze. He was approaching, looking rather tired from his late return the night before. The trip out to sea to take on the Imperial vessel had taken the better part of a week and though she and Lydia had caught the tail end of the excited chatter between soldiers of their success on their way to the training grounds, she knew Lydia was eager to see Galmar again. Even more so when they spotted Tobias leading the recruits' training instead of Galmar. Her suspicions were confirmed when Lydia wordlessly stepped away and she watched her take the dozen or so paces that separated them.

A small smile came to her face when Galmar placed a hand on Lydia's arm, murmuring words that she couldn't hear. It was hardly a romantic gesture, but it was obvious they'd missed each other. Not wanting to intrude, she tore her gaze away from their reunion and focused her attention back on the target across from her and took aim while ignoring the flicker of envy that flared in the pit of her mind. 

She heard it then, the crunch of steel boots in the fresh snow and lowered her bow before turning to see Ulfric fastly approaching, not looking the least bit disheveled from his vigorous training. 

"You haven't overdone it, have you?" he asked when he came to a stop in front of her, his large frame forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Despite what she was sure was a genuine inquiry for his child, she pursed her lips, shooting him a dry look before she responded. 

"I used to hunt dragons before this, you know," she said matter-of-factly whilst handing her bow over to him. He accepted it with a smirk pulling at his lips and she watched his gaze roam higher, coming to rest on her hair and she felt the blood pool in her cheeks when she was reminded of the floral decoration there. The rich color of the silky blue mountain flowers she'd found resting on her vanity when she finally, but still quite reluctantly left the comfort of her bed matched the blue velvet of her dress too perfectly to not weave the flexible stems into her blonde hair. 

"I am well versed in your accomplishments as the Dragonborn," he said, and she did not miss the trace of adoration in his tone as he held his free hand out in a silent request. She placed hers in his and he swiftly brought the back of her hand to his lips. The feel of his lips, that were far softer than they had a right to be when they connected with her skin was far from unpleasant. Though she couldn't help but be dissatisfied when they landed on her hand, for that was not where she wanted them most. 

Still, she knew his concern stemmed from a place of honesty. Ulfric had been nothing but accommodating since her pregnancy was revealed. Even more so over the most recent days, since the lower part of her abdomen had adopted a noticeable change. It was small, protruding only about the width of her pinky and if she turned just right, it wasn't even visible. But it was there, and both she and Ulfric were elated to finally see visible proof of their growing babe. He hadn't said as much, but she could tell in the way his hands lingered there each night, when he would hold her after their coupling. 

"He's fine," she said when he released her hand and she went to work undoing the straps that secured her bracers to her velvet covered wrists. Doria assured her that archery was well within her limits for physical activity, she only needed to exercise caution when it came to vigorous training with blades. But that was no matter, because given the choice, she would choose her bow over a blade every single time. 

Ulfric snorted a laugh, holding his free hand out for her bracers as she removed them. "My question was meant for you," he said and she thought about that as he took the few steps to a nearby table to dispose of her equipment. She was sure, her things would find their way back to her shared bedroom one way or another. 

"I'm alright," she said when he returned, "starving, but alright." The tea her midwife left for her had done the trick for her nausea and her appetite had returned full force and then some, as if her body was trying to make up the difference from the lack of food. 

The corner of his lips turned up once more. "Then you will be elated to hear that breakfast is ready," he said, offering his own bracer covered arm to her, "can I escort you?" 

With a small smile on her face, she wasted no time looping her hand beneath his arm and allowing him to escort her to the dining hall. Their housecarls followed closely behind as they made their way back inside the palace. Only stopping briefly once inside so Arielle could dispose of her cloak, the thick wool no longer necessary inside the intensely heated castle. The more time she spent in her new home, the more she became fond of it. The castle was more than big enough to raise a family and the halls would always be kept warm enough for their children. Though she would deeply miss the green forests Falkreath Hold had to offer, she'd be lying if she said the snowy lands of Eastmarch hadn't grown on her. 

When they entered the dining hall, they were greeted by bright natural light pouring in through the stained glass windows, illuminating the table set with fine china and littered with goblets of wine and mugs of mead. The table was already occupied, more so than usual with several officers taking up the majority of the far end of the table. Wuunferth was there, a rare sight since the aging man spent most of his time tucked away in his study. Even Ulfric's one and only thane -a man named Calder- was even Present. Though, she had yet to learn what he'd done to earn his title. He wasn't anything special, as far as she could tell, he hardly came around unless court was being held. 

The bard Inga was seated in the corner, softly strumming her lute and filling the hall with a lighthearted tune. A welcome change from the depressing ballads the auburn-haired woman was usually so keen on playing. The servers were ready and when Ulfric led her to the table and took his typical seat at the head of the table with her sitting at his right, platters of fruit, jam and sweet pastries were placed around the large table. 

Arielle wasted no time selecting herself a rather delicious looking sweetroll from one of the platters in front of her and Lydia and happily devoured it, while boisterous conversations sprouted around her. Galmar and Torsten's mission was successful in taking on the Imperial vessel, the ship now sat in Windhelm's own docks. And though her heart would go out to the families that lost loved ones, she knew it was a necessary sacrifice. Those that joined the Imperial army had done so willingly and she hardened her heart against that fact long ago. 

Arielle was content to devour her sweetroll to the lighthearted tune stemming from Inga's lute and ignore the world around her as she enjoyed her icing covered breakfast. It was the latest in a series of public breakfasts she attended over the past few days. She chocked it up to the elation she still felt at being able to enjoy food again. She had just helped herself to a second pastry when she heard Galmar's gravelly voice cut sharply through her thoughts as he addressed her directly. 

"You know the way you're going through those things.." Galmar said from across the table, the teasing in his tone earning her attention enough to meet his eyes and note the expression of amusement on his face. Arielle however was not amused, by him nor his jokes. Lydia might have grown fond of him, and while they tolerated each other well enough because she was the Jarl's wife and he'd long ago proven himself trustworthy to Ulfric, she would not call him friend. Her eyes narrowed in irritation before she spoke. 

"Were you present when Ulfric shouted Torygg to the ground in their duel?" she asked him, watching the amusement fade away and be replaced by an inquisitive look. Voices at the far end of the table grew quieter and she could feel the curiosity rising around the table. 

"Of course I was," he said, his gravelly voice boisterous and dripping with pride from having witnessed the dead king's dethroning. 

She dipped the prongs of her fork in a small dish of jazbay jam before stabbing it through another piece of the pastry. "Good," she said with a nod, allowing a defiant scowl to adorn her face, "then you'll know what to expect." She brought the bit of pastry past her lips at the same time Lydia snorted a laugh beside her, audibly clamping a hand over her mouth to keep her drink from spilling. 

"Do not threaten my housecarl," Ulfric chided and she looked over, noting the amusement in his eyes and she knew his words were empty. He then turned his attention to Galmar who had the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips and looking all too unbothered by her words. "And you should know better than to provoke a dragon," he told him before bringing his goblet to his lips. And try as she might, she could not stop the satisfied smile that pulled at her lips. 

"I suppose we can blame the child for your capricious behavior," Ulfric said, earning her attention and she swiftly brought her own goblet to her lips when her smile did not budge as she met his gaze. 

"Of course," she said, pressing her lips in a firm line and turning her attention back to the fluffy pastry on her plate. She was halfway through the pastry when it dawned on her that it was the first day of a new month and she could not stop the deep frown that came to her face when she realized her naming day was coming up, marking her twenty third winter. But it would be her second one without her parents. Worse still was that she'd been born on a Breton holiday and she suddenly missed her mother and her traditions more than she ever had before. 

"My naming day is this month," she said to Ulfric, knowing there would be some kind of festivity involved. 

He looked almost surprised, as if he'd not thought to inquire about such things. "Born under the sign of the Lord," he said with a growing smirk, "somehow that does not surprise me. Jorleif will arrange the feast." The latter part was directed at the steward, seated only a few chairs away from Galmar. Though it suddenly struck her, that she didn't know his name day either. 

"When is yours?" she asked him.

"First of Last Seed," he said. His sign was that of the Warrior then. It certainly suited him well enough, she supposed. 

"Mine is the twenty fifth," she said and though he nodded, she could see his interest fading as he turned his attention back to his own breakfast. "It's flower day," she went on, her fork chasing bits of the half eaten pastry around her plate, "perhaps we could celebrate?" 

He paused, his eyes flashing to hers before flickering to the others seated around the table and her mind became aware of the almost painful silence that seemed to fill the room, despite the lighthearted tune that still stemmed from the bard's lute. A deep frown came to her face when his eyes met hers again and she already knew his answer by the tightness in his jaw. 

"We can discuss this later," he said, and even though she knew his answer would be no, her heart still sank from the audible confirmation. She shouldn't have been surprised, and she wasn't really. Ulfric was a very traditional Nordic man, expecting him to adopt a Breton holiday for her sake was a fruitless endeavor. Even so, it hurt to know she would never again celebrate those precious traditions and their children would never know their Breton heritage. 

The remainder of their meal passed her by in silence while she continued to chase bits of pastry around her plate, her appetite thoroughly extinguished by the deep sadness that welled inside her, churning in her mind like a rotten cabbage stew. 

When their meal was finished, and everyone began leaving the hall, all she wanted to do was follow, but she'd barely lifted out of her seat when a wave of Ulfric's hand had her sinking back into her chair. She fixed her disheartened gaze on her mess of a plate while the others filed out, followed by their housecarls, leaving her alone with her husband. At least she could take solace in knowing Lydia would be in better spirits.. 

"I don't understand," she admitted when they were alone, "It's not like Saturalia.. or Witches' Day.. or even Day of the Dead. It's flower day." It was a celebration of the coming spring, a day to honor the new life sprouting up from the frozen ground. And while that didn't exactly apply in the near constant coldness of the north, it was an innocent enough holiday with no political implications and she just couldn't understand why he was so against it. "It's just flowers. What's wrong with flowers?" 

"It's not about the flowers," he said, "you know that."

Her frown deepened, "I never ask you for anything." It was hardly an extravagant request and she was sure it was well within his power to grant. 

He sighed. "I'm well aware of that," he said with a snap, making no attempt to mask his mounting irritation, "but the political situation right now is far too delicate to thrust a Breton holiday upon the people of-" 

"Forget I mentioned it," she quickly said, hating the way her voice broke and the tears that stung her eyes. She scoffed, shaking her head at her own foolishness, "I'm sure whatever Jorleif throws together will suffice. I only hope you will not be so blatantly ashamed of our children's heritage in front of them." With that said, she rose from her chair as quickly as possible and headed for the doorway. 

"Arielle," Ulfric called, his already deep voice lowering further as he growled out each syllable of her name in his agitation, "do not walk away from me." But she did not slow her steps, and she didn't care if he was upset with her, for he had upset her plenty. One of her hands found it's way to her hair in her own anger where she ripped the stupid blossoms he'd left for her from the top of her braid and let them fall to the ground as she swept out of the room. 

Perhaps her reaction was unreasonable, she thought as she marched in the direction of the library, especially since she'd known what she was getting into the day she agreed to marry him. But she couldn't help but feel belittled by his dismissive words and the thought of him being ashamed of their children, in any measure, made her feel dirty and hurt more than anything he'd done to her before. She brushed the few tears away that fell to her cheeks as she made her way to the sweet seclusion that only her library could offer her. 

Arielle never suffered a tendency to brood until her dragon soul had been awakened. Ever since that day in Whiterun, her mind seemed determined to dwell on the bad things that did -or simply could- happen, turning them over in her mind until she was irrevocably versed with every facet of them. And as she spent the day over her alchemy lab, making potions and salves for the town's healer, her mind was all too eager to give in to that temptation to dwell, and she lost herself in the dispiriting thoughts. 

Their relationship wasn't a real one, she reminded herself and no amount of impassioned kisses in the heat of intimacy changed that. He wanted her to ask for things that would make her comfortable as the mother of his children, not as someone he cared for. Because he did not care for her, only her well being. And the humiliation that welled inside her at having to remind herself of such a simple truth, was staggering enough to leave her more ashamed than ever before. 

Lydia came and went, because she wanted to be left alone and the day passed by her with only the sounds of her bubbling alchemy station and crackling fire to keep her company. It was well into the afternoon when the door to the library opened again. She assumed Lydia, or perhaps even Ulfric, but no sound reached her ears, of boots or otherwise. With a confused expression, her hands stilled around her mortar and pestle and she turned to face the newcomer, only to be met with an empty doorway and an open door. Now even more confused, she left her alchemy table and crossed the rug covered floor to the door, peeking into the candle-lit hallway to find it empty. 

Chocking the door's movement up to a draft in the hallway, she made to close the door when she discovered the source of the disruption hiding behind it. A Khajiit, standing much taller than she and gazing at her with something akin to sheer determination reflecting in his golden eyes. Her mind barely registered the thin black leather armour he was adorned in before her gaze zeroed in on the dagger he was swinging at her. She jumped back reflexively, only a little too late because she felt the blade slice through her velvet dress and into the delicate flesh of her abdomen. 

One of her hands cupped her stomach instinctively, her expression morphing into one of pain as a burning sensation erupted beneath her palm. A heat so intense it was as if a hot iron had been applied to her skin and her mind barely registered the liquid warmth spreading across her flesh beneath her hand. But her attacker was not done it seemed, because he took a step toward her to close the distance between them, his careful movements reminding her of a stalking sabre cat, searching for the right place to strike. Her free hand shot out, releasing a spell of lightening that could bring a man to his knees and her eyes widened when his armour glittered and shimmered as her spell reached him, seeming to absorb the magic she'd unleashed upon him. 

A genuine fear shot up her spine and settled in her mind when he bared his teeth at her. Each one coming to a sharp point and her fear mounted when it dawned on her that he was smiling. He had come to kill her, she realized, and he wasn't going to stop until he got what he came for. 

A shout welled in her throat when he raised his weapon once more. Her lips parted, releasing a harsh whisper that turned her form from physical to ethereal and she took off running, as fast as her feet could carry her back to her alchemy station where she reached for the first thing she could use as a weapon as soon as her form became physical again. Her fingers dug into the fire salts that heated her beakers, scalding her hands in the process as she grabbed fistfuls and spun around to throw them at her attacker's face. His hands shot up to shield himself a second too late and he released a yelp of pain, sounding like a wounded animal when the burning salts connected with his face and eyes. 

He hunched over, desperately pawing at his face in a futile attempt to stop the burning when she released another shout, an Unrelenting Force that should have thrown him across the room. But once more, his armor shimmered with a type of magic that seemed to absorb hers, leaving him unaffected by her shout as the forceful wave swept past him and decimated the tall bookshelves that lined the opposite wall. 

Her mind barely registered the hundred or so books falling from their shelves and the stone walls trembling around them from the power of her voice as her panic-stricken mind searched for the closest thing she could use as a weapon. Her pulse raced through her veins, fueled by the fear of being thrust into a sudden fight for her life and one of her small hands wrapped around the neck of a boiling beaker before swinging the thin glass container at the still hunched over khajiit. The beaker shattered over his head, dousing him with the boiling liquid and shards of glass bounced off the rug, scattering wildly around them and it was then that she finally found her voice. She called for help, for the one person she could count on, the one person she knew would come.

"LYDIA!" 

The Khajiit's head snapped up with a growl at the sound of her cry for help, the grey fur of his face had melted into thick matts and his now bloodshot and bulging eyes fixed her with a look of rage that sent chills up her spine. Too quickly for her to brace herself, his hands shot out, shoving her backwards where she collided roughly with the wooden shelves that housed the majority of her potions and ingredients. Dark spots danced across her vision when the side of her head smacked against a shelf. Though it was overshadowed by the sharp pain that erupted in the flesh of her left arm when glass vials shattered beneath her arm in the impact. The shards embedded themselves deeply enough for her lips to part, a wordless cry tearing itself from her lungs at the pain that radiated up her arm from wrist to shoulder. 

The scent of blood hung thick in the air, wafting to her when one of the Khajiit's leather gloved hands grabbed her uninjured arm in a vice grip to still her, his other pressed firmly against her mouth, effectively muffling the sounds of her struggling. She thrashed against his tight hold, pushing against him with her wounded arm, the movement doing nothing to deter him, only causing herself more pain to accompany the blood still streaming from the gashes there. And though he was still glaring at her with rage filled eyes, she could see the corner of his mouth turn up in a victorious smile. 

Just when she thought she might have to accept the fact that he may actually succeed in killing her, her heartrate began to slow, the edges of her vision dimming just enough to fill her with a fresh wave of alarm and she realized she'd been poisoned. She still felt that burning in her abdomen, only realizing now how quickly it had spread, enveloping her limbs in a painful type of paralysis that left her body feeling heavier with each second that passed. Her struggling began to slow and it wasn't long before she sagged against the Khajiit's hold, her vision darkening further and the room around her spinning with a dizzying vertigo. 

The next thing her mind registered was the smell of wool and blood filling her nose as she laid on one of the thick rugs on the library's floor, the woven fibers almost blurring together as close as they were to her face. The faint sound of clashing blades reached her ears and her heart leapt with joy with the knowledge that Lydia had come. Her eyes fell closed and although she still felt the painful paralysis that kept her body anchored to the ground, it was waning, soon replaced by a cold numbness that started in the tips of her fingers and toes and she felt the edges of her consciousness begin to slip away.

She was startled awake what felt like seconds later by the feeling of her body being moved, encased in a warmth that was not the painful one that stemmed from her belly. A warm hand cradled her face that was damp from a cold sweat and her eyes reluctantly opened to see Ulfric hovering just above her. He wasn't looking at her, his eyes were cast downward at something she couldn't see, his lips moving far too quickly to decipher one word from the next and though she wanted his attention, needed it so that she could tell him about the poison, she could not feel her lips enough to move them. Despite her best efforts to keep her eyes open, they closed again and her mind was embraced by a cold darkness.


	17. Fine China & Fresh Linen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the length in advance.

When the heavy fog of unconsciousness began to lift, the only thing Arielle could register, was just how sore she was. A groan of discomfort reached her ears and it took several seconds for her to realize that it had come from her own throat, that was incredibly dry and in desperate need of a drink.

"Are you awake?" A deep and masculine, but somehow hopeful voice sounded close by that could only have come from her husband. She opened her eyes -a small task that took much more effort than she thought it would as her still sleepy lids seemed desperate to stay closed- greeted by a blue linen canopy above her head. And though it was a familiar sight and she was now armed with the knowledge that she was in her own bed, she couldn't help but feel like something didn't quite add up. 

The mattress dipped beside her and her head rolled to the left, taking in the sight of her massive husband as he sat next to her on the edge of the bed, illuminated by the soft morning light that poured in from the window and the many pillar candles that burned brightly from their place on the nightstand. Her expression morphed into one of confusion at the sight of his deep frown and disheveled appearance. He looked tired, she thought. More so than she'd ever seen him and the faint lines in his face that came with age looked deeper than they had before. Gone was his usual attire of a steel chestplate and thick fur cloak, his only clothes being a linen tunic and trousers. She made to sit up, wincing from the discomfort her sudden movements caused her sore body. 

"Easy," Ulfric said, reaching one of his large hands out to her shoulder to keep her down, "some of the poison may yet linger in your system." 

She felt the blood drain from her face, her expression morphing into one of horror as the memory his words conjured forced it's way back into her mind, replaying itself at a fevered pace. From the Khajiit attacking her in the library, to the poison he inflicted on her, it all came rushing back and her eyes widened from the fear that washed over her for the well-being of their child. Both of her hands moved beneath the thick fur blanket, instinctively clutching at the soft linen covering her abdomen before she spoke. 

"The baby-" she said, her hoarse voice breaking while involuntary tears welled in her eyes. 

"Both of you are alright for now," Ulfric told her, an edge of concern in his deep voice, "but you must take it easy."

She swallowed hard, the action offering little reprieve to her parched throat. Ulfric must have sensed her thirst because his hand left her shoulder, reaching for a silver goblet resting on the nightstand. "But the poison," she pressed when he offered her the drink, remembering how it felt as it burned her, setting her on fire from the inside. 

"Canis Root," he informed her, "damned cat's blade was reeking of it. It won't hurt either of you, but you lost a lot of blood before the healer arrived, you need to rest," he said and not able to wait any longer, one of her hands found it's way out from beneath the thick fur to accept the goblet. Ulfric helped her sit and a phantom pain flared in her abdomen as she drank greedily from the cup, draining it entirely and completely unbothered by the amount that spilled from the sides of her lips. Ulfric stacked their pillows high behind her and she settled against them, releasing the cup to him when he made to take it. 

In her propped up position the thick fur blanket had fallen away to reveal the much-too-large tunic that covered her frame, nearly sliding off her shoulders. Her hands tugged experimentally at the soft white linen bunched around her abdomen while Ulfric watched her from where he lingered beside her. 

"It's mine," he said, "the healer and midwife spent two nights watching you. I thought you would want to be covered, as much as possible." 

Her heart swelled from his consideration. Just the thought of being bare in front of the two women while she slept had a blush of humiliation blooming in her cheeks. "Thank you," she told him vehemently before her expression morphed into one of confusion. "But I don't understand," she confessed with a shake of her head, her mind trying and failing to conjure any sort of knowledge about Canis Root, "if.. the poison wouldn't hurt us, then why-"

"It was meant to subdue you," he said bitterly and she saw the corner of his mouth twitch from his anger. The gravity of his words hit her then and it dawned on her that the Khajiit had not come to kill her as she first assumed, he came to take her. 

A shaky inhale invaded her lungs while her gaze anxiously flickered around the room that was empty save for them. But there were places she could see now, as her eyes roamed the far corners, shadowed places that would be easy to hide in. It was something they'd spoken about once before, the possibility that she would be targeted, but she never once dreamed someone would actually come into their home in an attempt to abduct her. And was it just the one? Or were there more, lurking in the shadows somewhere? Her muscles tensed reflexively, anticipating another fight.

"Don't do that," he said, his deep voice cutting through her anxious thoughts and some small part of her mind registered the fur blanket that was clasped tightly in her hands. She released the blanket as she met his gaze but she could not stop the almost pained expression that came to her face. She didn't hold his gaze long, the urge to search for hidden enemies was too strong and she was overwhelmed by a sense of fear and anticipation so intense it caused gooseflesh upon her skin while her eyes continued their relentless search. 

The fireplace popped, startling her before warm hands encompassed both sides of her face as Ulfric forced her to look at him. "Listen to me," he said, "now is not the time to panic." 

A scoff passed her lips and she pulled herself away from his hands. One of her own found it's way to her abdomen, where she could still feel the soreness of the freshly healed wound. A wound that was far too close to their child, "When will be the right time, Ulfric?" she asked incredulously, her tone inching toward hysterical, "When I am dead? When our child-" 

His arms wrapped around her too quickly for her to even think about pushing him away. And as she was engulfed in the warmth of his Nordic chest, she realized that was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead, her hands desperately clung to his tunic while a choked sob forced it's way past her lips. 

"Listen to me," he urged, his hands, warm and strong pressed her tightly against him, deepening the embrace, "worrying wont do either of you any good." She felt his lips come down on the top of her hair in a chaste kiss before he spoke again. "And there's no need," he said, pulling back enough for one of his hands to cup the side of her face. His blue eyes roamed her face, taking notice of the deep crease between her blonde brow and confused frown she now wore, "the palace has been searched and security reinforced. You won't go anywhere without someone watching you from now on."

A deep, albeit shaky breath invaded her lungs and she considered his words while his thumb stroked the length of her cheek. A touch that was so surprisingly gentle that her own hand rose of it's own accord to cover his much larger one, clinging to the offered comfort of his touch. 

"His armour," she said after a moment, swallowing hard as she remembered the way her magic was so easily deflected by his leathers, "it stopped my magic, not even my shout affected him." It had been a long time since she felt the kind of powerlessness he'd inflicted on her. No matter what her life had thrown at her, she always had her magic, could always take refuge in that inborn ability to defend herself. Having it suddenly rendered useless was a hard potion to swallow. 

He sighed at her downcast expression. "Some kind of enchantment," he said with no small amount of venom in his tone, "Wuunferth is dissecting it as we speak. Rest assured, we'll have answers soon. For now.." he trailed off, pulling himself away from her and she frowned at his loss, but watched him round their bed to approach the table by the window. It was piled high with documents and letters but he ignored them all in favor of picking up the silver tray that sat off to the side and she became painfully aware of just how ravenous she was. 

"What's all that?" she asked him when he returned to the bed, tilting her head at the table as he took his previous seat and placed the silver tray beside her. It was stacked with food and her stomach growled angrily at the sight of it. 

"My desk for the past two days," he said with the smallest of smiles pulling at his lips, "you didn't think I'd leave you alone did you?" 

Her gaze dropped to the tray beside her. Navigating through her emotions that were still too fresh and raw, she didn't know whether to smile or cry at his admission. But the thought of him staying nearby while she slept, despite the care she received from others pulled at her heart in a way she'd never felt before. Her eyes stung, tears threatened to form but she blinked them away and with a deep breath, focused her attention on the tray of food, helping herself to a piece of bread and smearing a generous heap of the soft cheese across it. 

It was quiet while they ate. Ulfric picked his way around the tray, eating what she ignored and when she was finished, he pressed a red potion bottle into her hands. The taste was a familiar one, notes of pine needles and blisterwort indicated that it was one of her mother's own recipes, and a strong one at that. A potion she'd used only twice before, the first time being after a wolf decided to interrupt one of her first hunting trips with her father. She still bore the crescent shaped scars of the wolf's teeth on her ankle. But they were much fainter now and only showed up if the lighting hit them just right. The second time was after her fight with the World Eater. She'd used damn near every potion she had with her when she returned from Sovngarde and just narrowly avoided a trip right back to the afterlife. 

When the bottle was empty and Ulfric had disposed of the tray, she watched him move around their room. After putting a pot of water beside the fire and hanging a towel nearby to warm, he helped her down the few steps of the dais and led her to the chair beside the fire to bathe. She was thankful for his help, the lingering soreness from her wounds was amplified when she left the bed. Moving her body, her muscles stiff and aching from disuse, hurt more than she expected it to and she found herself clinging to him as they crossed the small space to the fireplace. 

Once seated in the chair, she pulled the borrowed tunic over her head and got her first look at the results of the attack while Ulfric tended the fire. A red, and still quite angry looking line ran across her abdomen a few inches beneath her ribs and the skin of her palms were shiny from the layers of skin that had been burned off. But it was the under side of her left arm that had suffered the worst of it. Dozens of crescent shaped marks littered her skin from wrist to elbow, most of them already settling into their scars and she was almost glad that she was unconscious when the healer pulled the shards of glass out of her skin. 

Still, for all of her newly gained scars, the lot of them paled in comparison to the gnarly one that ran up the full length of her left thigh from knee to hip. Her fingertips traced the ugly raised skin, her mind recalling those last few moments in Sovngarde when she faced the World Eater, the consumer of souls of man. 

Thankfully, before she could begin to dwell on dispiriting thoughts, a movement on the edge of her vision caught her attention and she looked up in time to see Ulfric take a knee in front of her with the steaming pot of water. Expecting him to leave her to her own devices, she was surprised when he dipped a wash towel into the pot before lifting her leg with a gentle touch on her calf and ran the dampened towel across her skin to clean her. 

Her mind raced to process this newest development while the towel continued to move across her skin. The fireplace burned brightly to her right, keeping her warm and filling the silence that settled between them with the gentle flickering of burning wood while he washed away the dried sweat and bits of blood that still clung to her tender flesh. Despite the abuses she faced from the Khajiit, it was the most peaceful she'd felt in the longest time and her eyes fell closed of their own accord, a contented sigh finding it's way past her lips as she tried and failed to wrap her mind around it all. 

"I know that I should have asked," he said after a moment, his voice cutting through the quiet of the room and the serene trance she'd slipped into, but his hand did not still it's movements. 

"No, this.." she said with a slight shake of her head, "this is.." she trailed off, unable to find the right word to describe the pleasant feelings his gentle touches were invoking in her. Another contented sigh fell from her lips when the warm towel washed the swell of her chest.

"Arielle," said Ulfric, the sudden seriousness of his tone causing her eyes to open and search for his gaze. He was closer than she expected and giving her a look she'd come to crave over their time spent together. A look that cause a flicker of desire to flare deep in the pit of her belly. "This is difficult enough without you making sounds like that." 

A heavy blush bloomed in her cheeks at his words and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, clearly proud of the reaction his words had stirred in her. If she were not so sore, she would be more than willing to indulge him. Instead, he resumed his task, washing away the last bits of sweat that clung to her skin and when he was done, she was enveloped in the warmth of a heated towel before he carried her back to their bed. 

"Thank you," she told him as she laid back against the pillows, a tangled mess of blonde hair resting behind her. He pressed another potion bottle into her hands before pulling the thick fur blanket over her lap. It was smaller than the first, a tiny blue vial that was no bigger than the length of her small palm and she turned it over in her hands, fixing it with an inquisitive look. 

"It'll help you sleep," he explained and she pulled the cork off with a nod, only hesitating when she brought the small vial to her lips. She paused, her eyes flickered to his and the smallest of smiles returned to his face. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, answering a question she wouldn't ask and with a light blush of embarrassment dusting her cheeks, she downed the potion in one go. She felt it's effects almost immediately and her heavy lids fell closed to the weight of the small bottle leaving her hands.

When next her eyes opened, she knew exactly where she was. The light was much dimmer than before, late-afternoon she guessed from the quick glance she spared at the window. Ulfric was at the table, as promised and her heart soared at the sight of him. He was pouring his attention into the massive pile of documents and letters in front of him until she sat up, catching his attention with her movement and his voice carried across the room as he asked how she was feeling. 

With a deep breath in and a small smile on her face from his consideration, she gave her limbs a light stretch. Her muscles immediately protested the action in the form of a lingering soreness. Having wounds as freshly healed as hers meant the pain would last for a while. And for all her experience as a healer, she knew, only time could finish the job. "Stiff," she told him after a moment and pushed the thick fur blanket away from herself to throw her legs over the side of the bed. 

Ulfric's watchful gaze followed her as she moved about the room. After selecting a deep green, velvet dress from the closet she settled into the chair at her vanity to begin the process of detangling her curls with a comb of silver and sapphires. The room was quiet, only the sound of the crackling fire to her left and the scratch of Ulfric's quill as it moved swiftly across parchment could be heard while she worked. Deep blue eyes stared back at her as she studied her reflection in the large mirror and a frown came to her face at her sallow complexion and the dark circles that sat just below her eyes despite the abundance of rest she received. 

Her mind wandered back to the attack, how easily her magic was rendered useless was down right frightening and although Ulfric insisted she should not worry, it was all she could seem to do. Because once again, she was reminded of just how close her enemies could get to her, to their child. The Stormcloak soldiers had nearly surrounded Markarth, waiting for Galmar to ride out and lead the attack on the capitol of the Reach. Hjaalmarch and it's capitol Solitude would be next. But, as close as they were to winning this war, Arielle knew their troubles would not end along with it and she was only just coming to realize, exactly what she signed up for when she chose this life. A life of war, of constant worry and anticipation, waiting for the next calamity to turn her world upside down and she hoped beyond hope that she could somehow summon the strength to soldier through this life, if only for the sake of their children.

A knock at the door earned her attention and she turned in time to catch Rona entering with a silver tray piled high with food she delivered to the table. As tired as she still felt, she could not summon the desire to do anything else to her hair, opting instead to leave it down and she rose from her chair, almost unconsciously at the promise of a full belly. Her feet carried her toward the table as Rona hurried out of the room at Ulfric's order, a blur of brown hair and blue linen, the soft click of the door sounding much louder in the quiet room. 

Both of Arielle's hands came to rest on the back of one of the chairs when she reached the table, her eyes raking greedily over the spread on the large tray just as Ulfric was pressing his signet ring into a thick puddle of blue wax to seal his latest response letter. 

When Windhelm's coat of arms decorated the parchment, he set the letter aside and looked up, fixing her with a rather serious expression. "I have to step out for a bit," he said before releasing a heavy sigh at the look of confusion she was now wearing, "we must know who sent your attacker and the Khajiit has already attempted to end his own life once. I'll not let him die until we know who sent him."

It felt like her heart stopped when his words reached her ears. "He's alive?" 

Ulfric's own expression was as emotionless as she'd ever seen it, "For now. Til I've pried his truths from him." 

A look of shock came to her bloodless face when the meaning of his words dawned on her. What he was implying.. "Torture?" she asked incredulously, nearly choking on the word as it passed her lips. "You're going to-"

"I'm going to do whatever I have to do," he said plainly, as if they were discussing the weather.

"You don't have to torture him," she said, her hands clutching at the back of the chair until her fingers felt tingly from the pressure that turned her knuckles white. 

The Jarl, ever quick in his temper narrowed his icy blue eyes into a harsh glare, a look he had not given her in a long time and she knew she was already treading on thin ice. "Take care in your next words, wife," he warned in a low voice, "he came to take you-to take our son away. I know you're a compassionate woman, but do not tell me your heart bleeds for him. Do not tell me you would sympathize with one of our enemies."

No part of her wished to stoke the flames of his anger any further. But, for all his ire, she just couldn't believe he would inflict the kind of suffering he'd received upon another. Surely he was not capable of such a thing. "There must be a better way," she said, her tone almost pleading, "if we.. are we no better than Tulius or E-" 

It took several seconds for her mind to register the fact that he was standing in front of her, she hadn't even seen him move from the chair beside the one her hands still desperately clutched and yet, there he was. A mountain of a man glaring down at her with a murderous expression, his chest rising and falling rapidly in his anger. The sight of him like this was too much and she felt herself pale, taking a step back from him in fear of his next move. 

She didn't get far, one of his large hands shot out to grasp her bicep, holding her firmly in place and his face set in a firm sneer. "What do you think our enemies would have done to you if that gods damned cat had actually managed to take you away?" he asked in a tone so venomous that involuntary tears welled in her eyes just from having heard it. "Well?"

She shook her head, her muscles going rigid when his free hand grabbed her other bicep, her mind immediately likening his iron grip to a pair of shackles that caged her to him, forcing her to endure his wrath. "I don't-" 

"Tell me, Arielle," he spat, raising his voice higher with each angry word that passed his lips, "What do you think Tulius or Elenwen would have done to you as my wife? You think they would have locked you away in a cell to be forgotten about? Perhaps given you a few dozen lashes to match mine? Cut up your pretty flesh with their spelled blades? Do you really think that would be enough for them?! DO YOU?!" 

A choked sob forced it's way past her lips from his yelling and she turned her face away from his, screwing her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see him like this, wouldn't have to face the anger her words had invoked in him. 

One of his hands gripped her jaw, forcing her face to turn back to his. "Look. At. Me." he ground out, his voice brimming with barely controlled rage and leaving her with no other choice but to obey. Her eyes opened, greeted by the dark expression his face had morphed into and she could see the contempt swimming in his eyes. "Do you really think they would go through the trouble of getting you, just to ignore that cunt of yours? The cunt of the Dragonborn?!" His hand trembled around her arm, shaking her as if he were trying to hammer his words into her mind.

"Please stop," she said, voice strained from the tight grip he still had on her jaw and she could no longer keep the tears from spilling as his angry words reverberated inside her mind. She shook her head as much as his grip would allow, "Please." 

His ever angry gaze roamed her face for a long moment and it felt like her world came to a complete stop as she waited, watching his breaths begin to slow until finally, he spoke again, "I will do whatever I have to do to ensure our enemies never cross our threshold again. I will hear his truths, regardless of whatever I have to cut off to get it. But get it, I will. And you will not sympathize with him." 

With that said, and without waiting for her to respond, he released her in favor of stalking toward the door, his already heavy boots connecting even harder with the stone floor out of anger. She watched him leave, without sparing a single glance in her direction and a wince came to her face when the door slammed behind him so hard she wondered if it might actually come off it's iron hinges. 

She wasn't alone long, she could hear him snappishly order someone in the hallway to enter. Lydia, she learned when the woman obeyed and she was immediately awash with guilt at causing the other woman to suffer the Jarl's anger alongside her. 

Feeling dizzy from the prolonged standing, she sank into her chair at the table and stared dejectedly at the abundance of food in front of her, the silver tray surrounded by the mountain of paperwork Ulfric had busied himself with while she slept. 

It didn't take long for Arielle to realize just how wrong she was. He'd been so kind to her when she first woke, taking care of her in a way she never expected and she threw it all back in his face by doubting him. Worse was that she'd compared him to his own abusers and she was overwhelmed by the heavy guilt that settled in her mind, weighing on her heart like a wet blanket. 

"I would ask how you're feeling," Lydia said, the woman's strong Nordic voice interrupting her thoughts as she took the seat to her left, "but I think I could probably guess." She frowned at that as Ulfric's words echoed in her mind. And while they were spoken from a place of anger, the truth of them was plain as the light of day. He had a right to protect his family, to protect their son. 

And was whatever punishment he inflicted on the khajiit really so much worse than the results of her own temper unleashed on two Thalmor agents she'd slaughtered on the side of the road. The sight of Tobias, emaciated, covered in blood and struggling to stay on his feet as he was forced to walk to his next cell while they sat perched on horses had struck a chord deep inside her, invoking her own wrath. How could she question her husband for wanting to do everything in his power to spare her a similar fate? 

She felt rotten.

"I'm alright," she said finally, wiping away the lingering wetness that clung to her cheeks, "but I think I need to apologize." 

Lydia gave her a sympathetic look before she turned her attention toward the tray in front of her. She reached for the mug of still steaming tea, her bracelet catching the silver tray as she did, the sharp sound loud enough for her gaze to land upon the bracelet the Jarl had given her some time ago. A head of a dragon and bear, facing each other with teeth barred at each other. She knew it was supposed to represent their strength, in a very traditional, Nordic way. But it only ever reminded her of their many arguments. With a heavy heart, Arielle picked at the offered food, eating as much as she was able while she wondered how on Nirn she should go about apologizing when he finally returned to their room. 

The afternoon was long and passed by with only idle chat and a few rounds of Iron Hearts to pass the time. Lydia filled her in on the happenings around the castle while she'd been unconscious. The castle had been searched and the staff thoroughly vetted, and although no other intruders had been found, they'd increased security to monitor everyone coming and going. In addition to her own increase in guards following her around, the kitchen -which was believed to be the source of the Khajiit's entry- was now posted with several soldiers as well. 

Remembering how easy it had been for herself to slip out of the castle by way of the kitchen, the news that her attacker had used that same weakness did not come as a surprise. More, a depressing truth that would serve as a lesson for some time. 

Ulfric did not return, not even when sun set, leaving her feeling quite lonely despite Lydia's fine company. Knowing she would not sleep til the matter was settled, she eventually mustered up the courage to leave her room and right her wrongdoings. 

"Are you sure about this?" Lydia asked as she pulled a pair of slippers over her feet, "I can't imagine traipsing around the castle could be good for you right now."

"I am not traipsing," Arielle replied dryly, "but I do need to settle this now."

"He's gonna have my head for this," Lydia grumbled but thankfully did not press the issue, only followed closely behind as Arielle left her bedroom. Immediately upon opening the door she was greeted by the sight of an auburn-haired Tobias, standing at attention but a few paces away, armed with a longsword and ready to follow her. 

"My lady," he greeted with a slight bow of his head and she was guilt stricken at the sight of the former Stormcloak officer.

"I'm sorry about this," she told him as she took the few steps that separated them, "I didn't mean for you to lose your station."

He surprised her then, shooting her a genuine smile before he responded. "I volunteered," he said proudly, "as I said before, my sword is yours. I owe you my life and it's an honor to serve the Dragonborn." A small smile came to her face at that and with a deep breath in, she squared her shoulders and set off in the direction of the war room, both of her guards following closely behind. 

Although she was followed by not one, but two others sworn to her service, it did nothing to keep her gaze from lingering on the shadowed corridors as she passed them. The route from the living wing to the war room was so familiar now that she could make the trip with her eyes closed. But her eyes were and attentive and alert as she passed the shadowed corridors, looking for anything out of place so she would not be caught off guard again. Briefly, she considered arming herself with a dagger, but that thought only occured to her when she was halfway to the war room and there was no sense in turning back when she knew she could trust the two that followed her. 

When she reached the war room, she pushed the door open with little ceremony and was greeted by the sight of Galmar and the ever elusive Wuunferth as the rooms sole occupants. Galmar, who was seated at the war table with a bottle of ale in one hand looked up first but her eyes were focused on the armour sprawled out on the table. 

"Are you trying to have us all killed?" Galmar asked and she did not miss the obvious irritation in his gravelly voice. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, her feet carried her toward the table to examine Wuunferth's makeshift workspace. 

The court mage looked up at her approach, muttering a short greeting in a voice that was raspy with age before going back to his dissecting of the armour with a blade that looked sharp enough to split hairs. Two dozen or so thin chips of moonstone sat in a small pile beside the armour and a mess of shredded leather was scattered around him. Wrinkled hands worked diligently to separate the chips that had been sewn into the armour. She picked up one of the small pieces of moonstone to examine it closer. The cream colored stone was needle thin and bore a magical shimmer when the candlelight hit it just right. 

"What kind of enchantment is it?" she asked, studying the yellowish sheen of the stone in her hand.

"I'm not sure," Wuunferth muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the sharp knife in his hands, "I'll need quite a few more before I have enough to disenchant."

"And then you'll apply it to our soldiers armors?" she guessed, knowing Ulfric would not want to waste an opportunity to use their enemies technology against them.

"That's the plan." 

She nodded, mostly to herself since he had still not pulled his gaze from his work and she turned to face Galmar who was fixing her with a look she couldn't quite descipher. It looked a lot like irritation, she assumed from her sudden appearance, but there was something else there too. Perhaps he was genuinely worried about Ulfric's reaction to having her downstairs. 

"Where is he?" 

Galmar studied her for a long moment before arching his brow with a purpose and she knew his answer without having heard it. She gave a nod, if he was truly with the Khajiit then it was no telling when he would be done. Resolving to go back to their room, she turned toward the door.

"You could wait for him," he said, catching her off guard with the sudden invitation, "It's not easy for him just because he's been through it. He's doing it for you and.." he paused, seeming to consider his next words before speaking again, "seeing you after would be good for him." 

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, or of the validity of his words. For she could not imagine seeing her was high on the the Jarl's itinerary after their most recent fight. But her guilt remained and her desire to make it right had not diminished so she wordlessly made her way over to the fireplace, taking the chair closest to it and waited.

It wasn't much longer, an hour or so before the door opened again. "Ondolemar," Ulfric spat bitterly upon his entrance and she watched him take hasty steps to his desk, "should have known if it wasn't that foul bitch, it would be her second." 

Galmar swore. "We'll have the fucker's head on a pike before Markarth's finished burning," he said, his gravelly voice thick with confidence as the Jarl reached for a bottle of ale on his desk, uncorking with a quick movement of his free hand and bringing the bottle to his lips, hesitating only when she finally caught his eye. 

A look of genuine surprise crossed his face, though it was short lived, his expression quickly morphing into one of irritation at the sight of her. He opened his mouth only to press his lips into a thin line, seemingly deciding against whatever he was about to say. Aside from looking thoroughly exhausted, there was no evidence to be seen of what had transpired between him and the Khajiit. Her mind pictured his return several different ways in the hour or so she sat beside the fire, most of them messy and she was pleased to learn that nothing her mind conjured had been accurate.

Her mind became aware of her hands, that she had no memory of clasping together, aching in their tension and damp from a nervous sweat. She stood from her chair, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she did when Ulfric finally spoke, "What are you doing down here?" 

Thankful that there was no hint of his earlier irritation in his tone, she rounded the map covered table til she was standing beside his large desk. "I was hoping we could talk," she told him honestly, watching him bring the amber colored bottle to his lips. 

He drank deeply, nearly draining the bottle entirely before he sank into the chair at his desk and fixed his gaze on a fresh stack of letters. "Leave us," he ordered and everyone scrambled to obey, quickly filing out of the room and leaving her alone with him. "I don't want to argue again," he confessed in what she could only discern as a defeated tone. 

"Nor I," she told him, leaning a hip against the large desk. The flickering flames of the pillar candles caught her attention and she watched the flame dance slow and methodically for a long moment while mustering the courage to just get on with it. She took a deep breath before she began.

"I wanted to be a soldier, once," she told him and though Ulfric did not look at her, she could see the curious tilt of his head toward her. A small smile that he couldn't see came to her face before she continued. For once, she told him everything, spilling her heart and opening herself up in a way she hadn't since Lydia.

It was her father's stories that made her want to enlist, to fill his shoes and share in his glories with him. When the rebellion started, she was eager to push back against their Elven oppressors just as he did in the Great War. Because that somehow felt bigger than her helping her mother at the temple. She wanted to be a battlemage, heal the men and women on the fields of battle as they took on the Imperial army and force them out of Skyrim. 

But it was not to be, for only a few short days before she was set to enlist, the slaughter at Haemar's Shame took place and Arielle got her first taste of the tragedy of war crimes committed by the opposite side. It was still early in the war and the Imperial soldiers that led the attack were fresh from Cyrodiil and didn't care that the hunters camping down the mountain weren't soldiers, didn't give a single thought to their innocence, they slaughtered them all just the same. Since Helgen was the closest place to the attack, that's where the injured were brought. But it was just her and her mother..

She paused, her throat running dry at the memory of the injured, both soldiers and civilians alike being carted into the temple and her gaze fell to her hands, her fingers laced tightly together at the memory. Going from treating injured villagers here and there was nothing like the dozens of beaten and bloody men and women, soldier and civilian alike that overflowed Helgen's two bed temple. The weren't ready. They were understaffed and undersupplied and more died than lived. The realization that she couldn't save them hit harder than she ever thought it could and the effects of her guilt were long-lasting. 

"I couldn't save them," she said finally, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, "and I couldn't enlist after that. I just want you to know that I'm sorry for what I said and I swear to you I will never sympathize with our enemies," she said, dropping her voice til it was but a whisper, "not after that."

Silence hung heavy in the air for a long moment until a large hand encompassed hers, a heavy sigh finding it's way passed the Jarl's lips. "I should not have yelled at you," he said, and she looked up from their entwined hands to see his deep frown and catch the disappointment swimming in his eyes, "and certainly not while you're ill."

"I deserved it," she said. Yes, she was sure, she most definitely deserved his ire this time. 

He shook his head, "Regardless." He brought the back of her dominant hand to his lips. They lingered on her flesh far longer than she expected and when his lips finally left her, he held onto her hand and released another sigh. "You should be resting," he told her and she nodded despite the chiding in his tone. He was right, she'd lost a fair amount of blood, reminescent of her fight with the World Eater and if that was anything to go by, she would need several more days of rest to feel herself again. 

"Come with me?" she asked only for him to shake his head.

"I do not think sleep will find me any time soon," he said in that same defeated tone and she'd be lying if she said the sound of such a somber tone coming from him didn't worry her. He fixed his gaze on the hefty pile of documents in front of himself, a dark look crossing his face and she could tell his mind was wandering back to whatever transpired between him and the Khajiit, could see just how heavily it weighed on him. And how could she have thought ill of him, when he did it all for her and their son, to keep them safe. 

Her free hand rose, albeit tentatively to his face. His tired eyes were drawn to the movement but he made no attempt to still her hand as it moved, feeling the prickling of thick stubble that covered the expanse of his jaw from his days without grooming before sliding into the thick braids that adorned his tresses. He leaned into her touch, perhaps unconsciously, but it was enough for her to know how much he needed it.

She tried again, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Sleep will not find me either if you're not beside me," she admitted, sure that her words were true after their many months spent in the same bed. For better or worse, she was accustomed to his presence, "perhaps you could try?" 

He considered her words for a long moment and when he finally let out a defeated sigh, she knew his exhaustion had finally won. His gaze found hers and a grim smile came to his face. "Alright," he said, rising from his chair, "let's try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought I was going to have this chapter done before today. And it kind of was? The first part was originally it's own chapter, but it was all fluff and also kind of short so I didn't think it was strong enough to be on it's own. Hope the break there doesn't bother anyone else as much as it bothers me.


End file.
